WHEN I WAS A BOY 
IN ENGLAND 



IVAN G.GRIMSHAW 










































































WHEN I WAS A BOY 
IN ENGLAND 


CHILDREN OF OTHER LANDS BOOKS 

Independent Volumes With Characteristic Illustrations 
and Cover Designs. 12mo Cloth 

There are many books about the children of other countries, but 
no other group like this, with each volume written by one who has 
lived the foreign child life described, and learned from subsequent 
experience in this country how to tell it in a way attractive to American 
children — and in fact to Americans of any age. 

WHEN I WAS A BOY IN CHINA, By Yan Phou Lee 

WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN ITALY, By Marietta Ambrosi 

WHEN I WAS A BOY IN JAPAN, By Sakae Shioya 

WHEN I WAS A BOY IN GREECE, By George Demetrios 

WHEN I WAS A BOY IN PALESTINE, By Mousa J. Kaleel 

WHEN I WAS A BOY IN BELGIUM, By Robert Jonckheere 

WHEN I WAS A BOY IN RUSSIA, By Vladimir Mokrievitch 

WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ROUMANIA, By Dr. J. S. Van Teslaar 

WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN HOLLAND, By Cornelia De Groot 

WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN MEXICO, By Mercedes Godoy 

WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN ICELAND, By Holmfridur Arnadottir 

WHEN I WAS A BOY IN PERSIA, By Youel B. Mirza 

WHEN I WAS A BOY IN SCOTLAND, By George McP. Hunter 

WHEN I WAS A BOY IN NORWAY, By John O. Hall 

WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWITZERLAND, By S. Louise Patteson 

WHEN I WAS A BOY IN DENMARK, By H. Trolle-Steenstrup 

WHEN I WAS A BOY IN INDIA, By Satyananda Roy 

WHEN I WAS A BOY IN TURKEY, By Ahmed Sabri Bey 

WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN FRANCE, By Georgette Beuret 

WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ARMENIA, By Manoog Der Alexanian 

WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN SWEDEN, By Anna-Mia Hertzman 

WHEN I WAS A BOY IN KOREA, By Ilhan New 

WHEN I WAS A GIRL IN HUNGARY, By Elizabeth Pongracz-Jacobi 

WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND, By Ivan G. Grimshaw 


LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 
BOSTON 








* 



Ivan G. Grimshaw 








WHEN I WAS A BOY 
IN ENGLAND 


By 

IVAN G. GRIMSHAW 

it 


ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS 

■l 




BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 










Copyright, 1931, 

By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 
All Rights Reserved 
When I Was a Boy in England 


Printed in U. S. A. 


A p R 1 8 1931 



©CIA 36657t^ 



To 


MY WIFE, 

without whose help it could not 
have been written 











CONTENTS 


I. 

The Place Where I Was Born 

11 

II. 

School Days .... 

25 

III. 

Religious Life 

35 

IV. 

My Animal Friends 

47 

V. 

Our Games and Sports 

59 

VI. 

Beggars, Ballad Singers, and 



Balloons .... 

73 

VII. 

Guy Fawkes Day 

85 

VIII. 

An English Christmas 

95 

IX. 

The Peace Egg Players . 

10G 

X. 

Trips to the Fair and Glen . 

114 

XI. 

Happy Holidays 

124 

XII. 

A Trip to Lakeland 

134 

XIII. 

The Oldest Town in England 

146 

XIV. 

We Embark for America 

156 


7 



/ 


V 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Ivan G. Grimshaw . . Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

Shipley Market-Place . . . .16 

Bowling Hall, an Ancestral Home Near 

Shipley.24 

A Whit-Monday Choir Contest . . 36 

An Airedale Terrier .... 48 

A Scottish Terrier .... 52 

An Old Stile, Shipley Glen . . .120 

The Stream, Shipley Glen . . .124 

Fewston Church ..... 130 

English Countryside Near Timble . .134 

A Half-Timbered House Near Shrews¬ 
bury ...... 146 

Fountains Abbey, Ripon, Yorkshire . 154 


9 















When I Was a Boy 
in England 


CHAPTER I 

THE PLACE WHERE I WAS BORN 

To most Americans, the mention of 
England brings to mind two things: Lon¬ 
don, with its immense population, and 
Stratford-on-Avon, the birthplace of Wil¬ 
liam Shakespeare. However, England is 
much more than that. 

England is a land of contrasts. Its 
climate varies from that of Cornwall, 
where tropical plants bloom, to that of 
certain parts of Northern England, where 
one is chilled even in July. Great con¬ 
trasts of dialect are shown, so great that 
a Londoner and a Yorkshireman would 

11 


12 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


find it difficult to converse intelligently. 
There is, as well, contrast in industrial 
methods. In some parts of the country, 
women who know little of modern 
methods can be found working at hand 
looms, while in the manufacturing centers 
of England there are concerns making use 
of the most modern machinery. And all 
this occurs in a country so small that one 
can never get more than one hundred 
miles from the sea. 

When considering such a land of con¬ 
trasts, one cannot deal in generalities. 
What is true of one part of the country 
is not necessarily true of other parts. Al¬ 
though there is a general air of similarity, 
there is great variation in the life of the 
people in each of the forty counties of 
England. 

About midway between London and 
Edinburgh, on the London, Midland, and 
Scottish Railway, in the county of York¬ 
shire, is the little town of Shipley. Here 


THE PLACE WHERE I WAS BORN 13 


I was born, and in this town I spent most 
of my boyhood. 

Yorkshire is the largest county in Eng¬ 
land. Although England is in reality a 
small country, this one county contains 
more acres than there are letters in the 
Bible. The King James version of the 
Bible is found to have 3,586,489 letters, 
while Yorkshire contains 3,889,432 acres. 
The county is divided into three parts: 
the North Riding, the East Riding, and 
the West Riding, of which the latter 
is the largest. The word “ Riding ” is 
derived from the Scandinavian word 
“ thrithing,” meaning the third part of a 
shire, or county. 

As for Shipley, old records show that 
the town was established in the year 1086 
a. d., only twenty years after the Norman 
conquest of Great Britain. It is built on 
the banks of the river Aire, one of the 
most beautiful rivers of England. The 
valley through which this river runs has 


14 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


given name to a breed of dog, the Aire¬ 
dale, with which you are no doubt famil¬ 
iar. Unfortunately, in the vicinity of 
Shipley, man has robbed the river of 
much of its natural beauty through pollu¬ 
tion of its water used in worsted and iron 
mills. 

On either side of Shipley, on the banks 
of the Aire, is a little town; Saltaire on 
the east, and Windhill on the west. The 
first of these is one of the most famous 
towns in England, and certainly the most 
interesting in all the West Riding of 
Yorkshire. 

For a very long time before 1850 many 
men had sought to make use of the 
wool of the alpaca, or mountain sheep, of 
South America. This animal, used in 
South America for the bearing of burdens, 
has very long hair, which each year is 
partly sheared by the natives. Although 
a kind of cloth had long been made by 
the native women, no European manu- 


THE PLACE WHERE I WAS BORN 15 


facturer had been able to discover a proc¬ 
ess for using hair of such short fiber. 

In the year 1853, Titus Salt, a young 
man in the woolen business, discovered 
that by using alpaca for the weft and 
cotton for the warp, he could produce a 
kind of cloth which when dyed proved 
very suitable for the making of garments. 
During the years previous to his success, 
his friends had derided him for buying 
great quantities of alpaca with which to 
experiment. 

At last, having discovered the secret of 
the preparation of alpaca, he determined 
to enlarge his plants on the river Aire, 
about three miles from Bradford. This 
he did, and in order to provide homes for 
his workmen he set about building a town 
near the factories. He called this town 
Saltaire. As he was as much interested 
in men as he was in the manufacture of 
cloth, he determined to make Saltaire a 
model city, building all the houses and 


16 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 

streets alike. The streets of the town, 
such as William Henry Street, were in 
many cases named after the sons and 
daughters of Titus Salt. Before he died, 
this city builder was knighted by the king 
for his contribution to public welfare. 
Although Sir Titus Salt is now dead, the 
city of Saltaire is in the main occupied 
by men who work at Saltaire mills. 

The town of Windhill, on the other side 
of my birthplace, very adequately lived 
up to its name. It was situated on a high 
hill, and oftentimes great winds used to 
sweep across, making it a true “ windfall.” 

Like so many English towns, the name 
of the town of my birth has been misused 
until it has lost its original significance. 
The original name was “ Sheep Lay,” or 
the place where drovers taking sheep to 
market at one of the larger towns could 
stop at an inn to rest and at the same 
time have a sheepfold, or “ lay,” where 
the sheep could be quartered for the night, 



Shipley Market-Place 



































THE PLACE WHERE I WAS BORN 17 

and be secure from prowlers, human or 
otherwise. 

When I grew older, I often saw the 
three towns’ coat of arms, which retained 
some of the original significance of the 
names. It displayed a large windmill on 
top of a hill, representing Windhill. At 
the base of the hill was a flat area of grass 
upon which lay a large flock of sheep, 
representing Shipley. Past this “ sheep 
lay ” a river gently flowed, the Aire, rep¬ 
resenting Saltaire. 

I was born April 17, 1900, and since 
that was the last year of the glorious reign 
of Queen Victoria, it seems rather appro¬ 
priate that I should be born at 20 Queen 
Street. 

The interior of 20 Queen Street, except 
for the furniture, was an exact duplicate 
of 18 Queen Street or 22 Queen Street. 
The houses were made of stone and were 
joined into one solid row, the length of 
the street. Although there were small 


18 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 

front yards, there were no back yards, for 
a house on one street joined to the rear 
of a house on the next. 

So that you can get an adequate idea of 
the interior and exterior of the house in 
which I was born, I have drawn a plan, 
as shown. The front door opened to 
a small vestibule, or hallway. Facing the 
entryway was a door which led to the 
stairs. Walking through a small arch¬ 
way, one found himself in the “ common 
room,” or living-room of the house. The 
common room was about twelve feet wide 
and eighteen feet long, as were all the 
rooms in the house. If you had been there 
with me some twenty-five years ago, you 
would have seen the warm fire glowing 
on the hearth, casting cheery light upon 
the large rug lying before it. On one 
side, you might have noticed the oven 
where cooking was done, and on a spit 
over the coals hung a brass kettle, in which 
water was boiling for tea. This was the 


THE PLACE WHERE 1 WAS BORN 19 





c 






/V 


LIVING ROOM BASEMENT 

PLAN OF THE HOUSE IN WHICH 


THE AUTHOR WAS BORN 















































































































20 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


combined dining-room, living-room, and 
kitchen. This arrangement was not the 
result of poverty, nor, like modern apart¬ 
ments, the result of lack of space. It 
seemed in many ways an excellent idea, 
for in this room the family life gathering 
about the great open fireplace made pos¬ 
sible some wonderful evenings in the light 
of its cheery blaze. 

I remember the many times that we sat 
roasting chestnuts in the dying embers of 
the fire while Father told us tales of mys¬ 
tery and wonder, tales of ghosts and gob¬ 
lins, elves, and trolls, and other strange 
creatures. Well I remember how loath 
I was to leave the warm circle of the fire¬ 
side to climb with weary steps to bed. 
My brother, who was several years older 
than I, was privileged to come to bed 
much later, and, oh, how relieved I was 
when he sometimes volunteered to escort 
me to my cot! How different was the 
thought of goblins on the candle-lighted 


THE PLACE WHERE 1 WAS BORN 21 


journey up the stairs from what it had 
been in the light of the fire amid the fam¬ 
ily circle! 

Now let us turn our attention to the 
attic. To reach the top floor, we went up 
a flight of stairs to the bedroom, and then 
climbed still another flight to the attic. 
Here was a finished room which was used 
as a bedroom for us children. Two small 
windows on the street side of the house 
supplied the room with light. 

The second-floor bedroom was the same 
size as the one in the attic, but had two 
large windows. A large fireplace stood in 
the center of one wall. There was no wall 
paper, for it was the custom in English 
homes to have the walls and ceilings 
“ whitewashed,” or painted a marvelous 
white to reflect all the daylight possible. 

The front yard of each home on the 
street was enclosed by a stone wall on two 
sides. On the street side was an ash mid¬ 
den, a large stone receptacle in which the 


22 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


ashes from the two fireplaces were kept. 
This was emptied regularly week after 
week by men employed by the town for 
that purpose. For the convenience of the 
citizens, this was generally done at night, 
and so the men engaged in it came to be 
known as 44 night soil ” men. 

The coal for the fireplaces was stored 
in the cellar, and here as boys we always 
kept our 44 progging,” or fuel, for the 
Fifth of November, of which I shall tell 
you more later. 

The use of open fireplaces in which a 
great amount of wood was burned caused 
much soot. Thus it was occasionally 
necessary to have the chimney cleaned. 
There were some people who sought to 
clean it by releasing a pigeon up the chim¬ 
ney, and some tried to burn out the soot. 
However, since any person caught burn¬ 
ing out a chimney was liable to arrest and 
a heavy fine, most people sought the aid 
of the 44 sweep.” 


THE PLACE WHERE I WAS BORN 23 


I found the sweep one of the most in¬ 
teresting characters of my boyhood. Due 
to the type of work which was demanded 
of him, he found it impossible to keep his 
face from becoming black, and many of 
the sweeps could easily have passed for 
African negroes. The sweep carried a 
circular brush about four feet long, around 
the handle of which were a number of 
other handles used to lengthen the handle 
of the brush proper. As the sweep walked 
down the street with this bundle over his 
shoulder, it looked not unlike the bundle 
carried by the Roman lictors, except that 
the center of the bundle was surmounted 
by a circular brush rather than an axe. 
(If you will look upon the back of a late 
American dime, you can see a picture of 
the lictor’s bundle.) 

What a great day it was when the 
sweep came! How I used to beg that the 
sweeping be done on Saturday, when I 
could stay home from school. When the 


24 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


sweep performed his operation on the 
chimney, he began by thrusting the circu¬ 
lar brush up the chimney to sweep with a 
circular motion. As soon as he had swept 
to the full extent of the four-foot handle, 
he added an extension about four feet long 
and repeated the process. The extension 
of the handle was continued until a joyful 
shout from his assistant or from the boys 
of the neighborhood proclaimed that it 
was “ out at the top.” This being accom¬ 
plished, the sweep brought his brush down 
again, disjointing it on the way. Suffice it 
to say, there had to be a great deal of care 
exercised to keep the soot from filling the 
house. Even the most generous precau¬ 
tions were sometimes of little avail. But 
who would exchange the joys of an open 
fireplace the year around for freedom 
from a little soot? 



Bowling Hall, an Ancestral Home near Shipley 































« 

v - 











CHAPTER II 


SCHOOL DAYS 

When I was only three years of age 
I was sent to school, as it was customary 
to begin the work very early. I was en¬ 
rolled in the Infant School, which was the 
equivalent of the American kindergarten. 
There we were kept busy for several 
years, formal training beginning with 
Standard One, the equivalent of the 
American first grade. 

The head of the Infant School was Miss 
Jessup, a rather tall, dignified woman of 
middle age. She had a lovely voice and 
gentle manners. I most vividly remember 
that she always carried in her hand a little 
wooden clapper very much the shape of a 
pair of pliers. When she pressed the han¬ 
dle, a spring was released which clapped 

25 


26 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


against a piece of wood with a resounding 
click. This instrument was used when¬ 
ever she wished to call the school to atten¬ 
tion, or for assistance in marking the 
cadence when we were marching. 

Although gentle of disposition, she 
knew how to deal with children who were 
disobedient or did not like to attend 
school. I remember one little friend of 
mine who, refusing to go to school, regis¬ 
tered his disapproval by having a tantrum. 
In spite of his kicking and screaming, his 
father carried him to school and turned 
him over to the care of Miss Jessup. At 
lunch time he came home quite his happy 
self, and after lunch returned to school 
without a murmur. It was several days 
before his mother learned the secret. 
When questioned as to what Miss Jessup 
had done or said to him, he replied, “ Miss 
Jessup said that if I had to be carried to 
school again she would make me w r ear 
petticoats.” 


SCHOOL DAYS 


27 


Only one piece of our “ busy work ” do 
I remember. After folding circular 
pieces of paper many times, we puffed 
them out by blowing on them. A great 
many of these were fastened together to 
make bright-colored balls which we hung 
in our homes for decoration. 

Like all normal children, we did many 
strange things. One youngster in one 
of my classes always sat with his blouse 
over the back of the seat. One day the 
teacher came by his seat, and as she was 
passing out paper, she dropped a sheet on 
the floor. The boy tried to pick it up for 
her, but found that because of his blouse 
he could not reach it. The teacher did 
not attempt to scold him. She merely re¬ 
marked, “ Boys do such funny things.” 
The boy blushed deeply, much to the 
amusement of the other pupils. 

Another boy one day stood on his chair 
to watch what the teacher was doing as 
she stood with her back to the class, look- 


28 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


ing for something in her desk. Turning 
before he was aware of it, she saw him. 
In punishment, he was compelled to con¬ 
tinue to stand on his chair. What fun it 
was for the rest of the class! 

With entrance into Standard One, 
school began in earnest. Here was the 
dividing line between boys and girls. 
From this time on, I was in the Boys’ 
School; the girls were taught in a separate 
building. I believe that the system in 
use in America is better than that of the 
English schools, for I feel that boys and 
girls ought to be together when young, to 
prepare them to meet life’s problems to¬ 
gether when they have become men and 
women. 

Our playground was a large space in 
back of the school enclosed by a very high 
wall. It was paved completely with ma¬ 
cadam, and down the center of it was a 
long line of small white stones. This was 
the line for Inspection. When the class 


SCHOOL DAYS 


29 


bell rang, we lined up on that line ar¬ 
ranged according to our standard (grade), 
or “ form,” in school. In front of each 
group was a teacher. After we had toed 
the line, he carefully looked at our shoes to 
see that they were shined. He then had us 
present our hands for inspection, to be 
sure that they were clean. Many were the 
attempts to shine shoes on the back of 
stockings, or to present the cleaner hand, 
sometimes with success; but there was 
generally a group from each form sent to 
the washroom to make themselves pre¬ 
sentable before coming to class. 

Entrance into the Boys’ School brought 
us into intimate contact with corporal 
punishment. The teachers, or masters, 
had three weapons: rulers, canes, and 
cardboards. It was a boyhood story that 
a horsehair laid across the palm of the 
hand would split the master’s cane, but I 
never heard of one’s being split. The 
ruler was most often used for “ knuck- 


30 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


ling ” a boy caught writing with his left 
hand, or grasping the pen so that the 
knuckle of the forefinger protruded in 
what the master called “ the camel’s 
hump.” “ Knuckling ” was a severe pum- 
meling of the knuckles of the offending 
hand by the master’s ruler. The card¬ 
board was a kind of cane, made about 
eighteen inches long and three-quarters of 
an inch in diameter in the form of a tube. 
I knew of only one school in which this 
was used. 

The head master of the school which I 
attended was Mr. Morrell. He was a 

man short of stature, but great of heart. 

« 

He always knew all his boys, and greeted 
each one with a cheery word whenever he 
met him. When he died a few years ago, 
he was mourned by every schoolboy in the 
town. 

Our studies were for the most part con¬ 
fined to the fundamentals, or Three R’s: 
Reading, ’Riting, and ’Rithmetic. We 


SCHOOL DAYS 


31 


had no opportunity to indulge in manual 
training and various activities as do 
students to-day. 

Two subjects in which we received a 
thorough training, even in the lower 
grades, were Shakespearean recitations 
and English history. I can well remem¬ 
ber that my brother, when in only the 
Fourth Standard, faultlessly repeated 
Portia’s Speech on Mercy from Shake¬ 
speare’s Merchant of Venice. 

You may also be interested in our 
method of learning the names of the Eng¬ 
lish kings. We did this by the means of 
poetry. The poem was as follows: 


“ First, William the Norman, then William 
his son, 

Henry, Stephen, and Henry, then Richard 
and John. 

After Henry the Third, Edwards one, two, 
and three, 

After Richard the Second, three Henrys we 


see. 


32 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


Two Edwards precede the third Richard, 
then press 

Two Henrys, Sixth Edward, Queen Mary, 
Queen Bess. 

Then James, king of Scotland, Charles First, 
whom they slew, 

Yet received after Cromwell another Charles, 
too. 

After him we have James, who relinquished 
the throne 

To William and Mary, then William alone. 

Till Anne, the four Georges, fourth William 
all gone, 

Victoria then reigned, and now Edward her 
son.” 

Just before time for promotion, the In¬ 
spector came to visit the school. This was 
always a day looked forward to with a 
mixed feeling of fear and curiosity. On 
that day special care was taken to have 
faces and hands as clean as possible. New 
suits were often in evidence, for one 
wanted to make a good appearance before 
the Inspector. 

I remember the Inspector very dis- 


SCHOOL DAYS 


33 


tinctly, as I saw him a great many times 
during my school years. He was an old 
man with a long beard. How wise he 
seemed to us as children, and how seldom 
were we able to make the impression we 
had hoped for! It seemed that the reac¬ 
tion of the Inspector was always the same, 
a querulous, doubting glance, a whispered 
word to the teacher, and the pupil was 
requested to sit down. How glad we were 
when this worthy completed his inspec¬ 
tion! 

Friday was the red-letter day of the 
week, for on Friday afternoons we had a 
general assembly of the whole school for 
the purpose of singing, reciting, and pre¬ 
senting entertainments. At this time, we 
sang our school songs, and many of the 
patriotic songs of the nation, always clos¬ 
ing with the National Anthem, “ God 
Save the King.” 

School hours were practically the same 
as in America. In the summer we had a 


34 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


long vacation, three weeks, which seems 
very short when compared with the 
American vacation of ten weeks or so. I 
remember with what delight I received 
the report that in America schoolchildren 
were free for three whole months each 
year, including Christmas and Easter 
vacations. Such a miracle seemed impos¬ 
sible. At Christmas, we had about a 
week’s vacation, and at Easter, several 
days. There were a few other scattered 
days of vacation. 

As I have said before, we did not have 
the opportunities offered to children in 
American schools of to-day. Neverthe¬ 
less, our schools helped to prepare us for 
useful living, and our school days, taken 
all in all, were happy ones. 


CHAPTER III 


RELIGIOUS LIFE 


“ When mothers of Salem, 

Their children brought to Jesus, 

The stern disciples turned them back, 

And bade them depart. 

But Jesus saw them, ere they fled, 

And quickly turned and kindly said: 

‘ Suffer the children to come unto Me, 

For of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.’ ” 

This famous hymn, sung in the piping 
staccato voices of children, provides me 
with my earliest recollection of English 
religious life. This song we sang as chil¬ 
dren in a little Methodist Sunday School. 

Our Sunday School was very much 
like an American Sunday School, with 
the exception that it was held both Sun¬ 
day morning and Sunday afternoon. My 

35 


36 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


remembrance of our meetings is rather 
vague, with the exception that I know 
that they were enjoyable, and that no 
pressure had to be brought to bear to get 
us to go to both sessions. We were all 
given books at the end of the year for 
perfect attendance, and this may have 
acted as a spur to our interest. The books 
given were all ones of real worth, and 
some of them still have an honored place 
in my librarjr. 

On Whit-Monday, which came seven 
weeks after Easter, we had the Annual 
Sunday School Treat, or picnic. The 
first event of the day was the gathering of 
all the Sunday Schools in the village mar¬ 
ket-place to hear the various choirs from 
the village churches. This was a type of 
contest, each choir having rehearsed spe¬ 
cial selections with the hope of winning 
the decision. It may seem strange in this 
land of Prohibition that the prize was 
given by the owner of the Sun Hotel, 



A Whit-Monday Choir Contest 










































































































RELIGIOUS LIFE 


37 


which place was in reality a public house, 
or saloon. 

After the choir contest, we all went to 
our respective churches for “ buns and 
tea.” The buns provided were large oval 
cakes, made very similar to currant bread. 
Each boy and girl was asked to bring his 
own “ pot,” or mug, for the occasion. 
When these were placed in a row on a 
shelf in the Sunday School room, they 
made a rather unique display. Pots of 
every size and description were in evi¬ 
dence, some of them in a state of abject 
dilapidation. I remember one lad whose 
pot was broken on the way to the treat. 
Great was his distress until some kind soul 
provided him with one to take its place. 
Following our “ bun and tea,” we went to 
a large field not far from the church, and 
spent the rest of the day in contests and 
games. 

Before telling you of our regular chapel 
services, let me tell you of our Band of 


38 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


Hope. England, as you know, is a coun¬ 
try where the liquor traffic goes on like 
any other business. Although this is the 
case, there were many people working for 
Temperance. One of the most effective 
agencies was the Band of Hope, finding 
expression in work in many churches. 
These bands were made up of the young 
people of the Sunday School, who were 
organized to learn of the evils of alcohol, 
and to find ways and means of doing away 
with the liquor traffic. Meetings were 
held each week at which programs were 
presented, consisting of recitations, mu¬ 
sical numbers, plays, debates, and ora¬ 
tions. All these dealt with the general 
topic of Temperance. Even the songs 
which we sang concerned Temperance. 
Here is a very interesting one which will 
show the general type used: 

“Joe Perkin was a white man, 

And boasted he was free. 

But greater slave, o’er land and wave, 


RELIGIOUS LIFE 


39 


No black man e’er could be. 

For the drunkard’s chain was round him, 

Every night he went on spree. 

Well, I do declare, they were shouting there, 

‘ Three cheers for the brave and free.’ 

Singing: 6 Rule Britannia, Britannia Rules 
the Waves. 

Britons never, never, never shall be slaves . 5 55 

To a group of American boys of the 
present generation, such meetings would 
not make much appeal. In these days of 
the graded Sunday School, our twice-a- 
day service might not seem enticing. 
However, we found these services both 
interesting and instructive. 

In England, the place of worship which 
one attends on Sunday is a church or a 
chapel, depending upon whether one be¬ 
longs to the established church, the 
Church of England, or is a member of 
one of the non-conformist groups: the 
Methodists, Congregationalists, Baptists, 
etc. 

Since my parents were members of the 


40 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


Methodist communion, I always attended 
chapel on Sunday. The main architec¬ 
tural difference between the American 
church and the English chapel is in the 
pulpit. The English preacher’s pulpit is 
high above the heads of his congregation, 
and to enter the pulpit, the minister must 
go up a flight of steps. A curious inci¬ 
dent is told concerning this. 

A certain minister, by the name of 
Peter McKenzie, once preached in the 
chapel which I attended. As he was 
rather eccentric, his discourse tended to be 
of that kind. One day he was preach¬ 
ing on “ The Road to Heaven.” In illu¬ 
strating his subject he said, “ Getting to 
heaven is very difficult. One must pro¬ 
ceed step by step, even as I had to do to 
get into this pulpit. Backsliding, on the 
other hand, is very easy. It’s as easy as 
this.” So saying, he opened the pulpit 
door, stepped out, straddled the bannister 
of the pulpit stairs, and slid to the bottom. 


RELIGIOUS LIFE 


41 


When I was a boy we had electric 
lights, hymn books, and many modern 
conveniences in our chapel; but before the 
advent of hymn books for use by the con¬ 
gregation, it was customary for the min¬ 
ister to read out two lines of the hymn, 
which were then sung by the congrega¬ 
tion. After this, he read out two lines 
more, which were also sung by the con¬ 
gregation. This continued until the 
whole song had been sung. 

My grandfather told me many interest¬ 
ing stories of these early days when 
lighting had to be with candles. Here 
is one of his stories. One evening, in one 
of the chapels of his day, the minister was 
reading the lesson by means of a candle 
held by his assistant. In the midst of 
the reading it became necessary for the 
candle to be snuffed, that is, to have the 
end of the wick cut off so that it would 
burn more brightly. The minister gave 
this instruction to his assistant during his 


42 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 

reading, producing the following effect: 
“ And Moses said unto Aaron, ‘ Snuff 
that candle, Bill.’ ” 

In the early days of Methodism there 
had been a shortage of ordained minis¬ 
ters. There were in fact more churches 
than ministers. In order to meet this 
need, John Wesley had made use of 
“ lay,” or unordained ministers. A cir¬ 
cuit generally consisted of four churches 
where three lay ministers and an ordained 
minister in turn served the congregation. 
In this way, each of the four churches was 
able to have a sermon by an ordained min¬ 
ister every four weeks. Thus the lay 
ministers were not so burdened in the 
preparation of sermons, for one sermon 
could be preached at each of the four 
churches. In my boyhood, some of the 
churches of the town were still served by 
lay ministers most of the time. The peo¬ 
ple of the town facetiously called them 
“ local dicks,” or local ministers. How- 


RELIGIOUS LIFE 


43 


ever, most of them, although they were 
unordained, were earnest men, consecrated 
to their task. 

The minister of the church which I at¬ 
tended was ordained and had spent more 
than thirty years as a missionary in China. 
He was true to his name, for Rev. Sylves¬ 
ter Whitehead had the finest silver-grey 
hair that I have ever seen. Although he 
was quite old, he loved and was loved by 
every child in his congregation. How I 
thrilled when he put his hands upon my 
head and gave me his blessing! 

I was only a boy at the time, but there 
was one of his talks which I shall never 
forget. He was speaking of his return to 
England from China after more than 
thirty years in the service of the Master. 
He told of many weeks of weary journey¬ 
ing through foreign waters toward the 
homeland. One morning, when he came 
on deck, he saw the white cliffs of Albion 
(England) just discernible on the hori- 


44 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


zon, as the land which he had not seen for 
more than thirty years was becoming 
visible. As he watched, a great feeling of 
intense joy and satisfaction swept over 
him. The lines of Scott came to his mind: 

“ Breathes there the man with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 

‘ This is my ozvn , my native land! 9 
Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d, 

As home his footsteps he hath turn’d, 

From wandering on a foreign strand? ” 

When the minister closed his recital of 
this great event, a common feeling of sym¬ 
pathy seemed to sweep through the audi¬ 
ence and rest in benediction upon those 
present. 

Of all the services of the chapel, there 
was one which appealed to me more than 
any other. This was the Love Feast. 
Perhaps my liking was inherited from my 
paternal grandfather, who had always 
been much interested in such occasions, 
often having arisen at four o’clock in the 


RELIGIOUS LIFE 


45 


morning to walk to one held ten miles or 
more from his home. 

The Love Feast was in reality a sunrise 
prayer meeting. It consisted of the sing¬ 
ing of hymns, the offering of prayers, and 
the reading of Scripture. There was also 
the offering of testimonies by various of 
the people present, testimonies of God’s 
goodness and His care for those who 
sought to serve Him. The service ended 
with a communion. A large common cup 
of tea was passed “ from hand to hand, 
and lip to lip.” Wafers were also used, 
so that like the disciples of old, the fol¬ 
lowers of the Master commemorated His 
life “ in the breaking of bread, and in 
prayers.” 

Early in October each year the chapel 
had its Harvest Home Festival. To this 
service, members brought all kinds of 
fruits, vegetables, and grains, in com¬ 
memoration of the successful completion 
of the harvest. These were placed upon 


46 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


the altar and the mourners’ bench, and 
the church was further decorated with 
palms and other greens. 

All the hymns of the day such as, “We 
Plough the Fields and Scatter the Good 
Seed o’er All the Earth,” dealt with har¬ 
vest, thus celebrating God’s goodness in 
giving bountiful crops. The prayers and 
sermon of the day were given over to re¬ 
membrance of His goodness and mercy. 
As one looked at the altar laden with evi¬ 
dences of a bountiful harvest, how appro¬ 
priate seemed the words of the old Psalm 
as they were intoned by the minister: 

“ The earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness 
thereof; 

The world and they that dwell therein.” 

The religious life of any people must 
find means of expression. Each nation, 
or group, has its own way of acknowledg¬ 
ing the presence of the Divine. “ They 
who seek, shall truly find Him.” 


CHAPTER IV 


MY ANIMAL FRIENDS 

It has often been said that every boy 
should have a dog. In that respect my 
boyhood was very successful, for I always 
had a dog as a companion. I possessed 
in addition a great many other pets, some 
of them rather strange, as I now see it. 

Living in the Aire valley as we did, a 
great many Airedale dogs were in evi¬ 
dence. As I have said, the Airedale is a 
product of the Aire valley, close to the 
town in which I was born. The fore¬ 
runners of the breed were known as 
Bingley terriers. The actual source of 
the breed is unknown, but some sug¬ 
gestion of its origin can be found in the 
use to which it has been put. As the 
streams of the Aire valley were full of 

47 


48 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


otters, the dog needed to catch them was 
the otter hound, a dog that was not afraid, 
and that could swim with ease. But there 
were rabbits to be caught, badgers to be 
hunted, rats which had to be disposed of 
in rat-killing contests; and in order to do 
this efficiently a new type of dog was 
required. 

To meet this demand, the Airedale was 
bred from the otter hound, a big, wire- 
coated dog of the bloodhound type, gen¬ 
erally black-and-tan in color. To this 
were bred many varieties of dogs of the 
terrier type, such as the Fox, Welsh, Old 
English, and Dandy Dinmont. Just how 
this produced the Airedale, no one knows. 
The otter hound contributed the size and 
the love of water, while the terrier blood 
made him a real hunter and fighter. 

The Airedale’s wiry coat sheds water 
very readily, and his smooth undercoat 
acts as a vest in cold weather. He can 
swim in the river, scramble out, shake 



An Airedale Terrier 

















MY ANIMAL FRIENDS 


49 


himself, roll over, and be dry! Then, too, 
his coat is an efficient armor when he goes 
through brush and brier. 

One must give credit to the Airedale 
for his abilities. People from one end of 
the world to the other have learned of and 
will attest his sterling qualities. The 
Airedale is not afraid of anything from a 
rat to a lion; yet, in spite of this, he is 
gentle enough to take care of a baby. You 
will find Airedales living comfortably in 
tropic jungles or in igloos in arctic 
wastes. No dog is less disposed to begin 
a fight, and no dog is more ready to stick 
it out to the end. 

Most of the dog companions of my 
youth, however, were of a very different 
breed from the Airedale. They came 
from Scotland and were known as Scot¬ 
tish Terriers, or “ Die Hards.” These 
little dogs are generally black in color, 
very short in their legs, and blocky 
throughout. They have a wonderfully 


50 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


sharp exx>ression in their small, dark eyes, 
emphasized by the little ears, pointed at 
the top, which stand erect. 

The first one I had was Glenny. She 
was born in Bradford, just a few miles 
from Shipley, and no boy ever had a better 
companion. When I was about five years 
old, we had to move to another town for 
a time, and so it was thought best to sell 
Glenny. She went to a new owner, and to 
the surprise of every one soon became a 
prize dog, winning blue ribbons at various 
kennel shows. 

It was Glenny, I believe, that gave me 
the greatest thrill of my boyhood. A year 
or so after we had sold her, we returned 
to my birthplace to live. One day I went 
to Bradford with my father. As we were 
walking along one of the main streets of 
the city, we were startled to see a great 
group of people standing before a shop 
window. When we arrived at the place, 
it proved to be a stationer’s store, where 


MY ANIMAL FRIENDS 51 

we saw the people were admiring an oil 
painting. The painting was a splendid 
picture of two Scottish terriers—Jenny 
Adair and Glenny Adair—the second of 
the combination being the dog of my baby 
days. How thrilled I was, and what a 
story I had to relate to my chums when 
I was back in Shipley. 

The two dogs continued to be blue- 
ribbon prize winners. The last I heard of 
them was that they had arrived in New 
York for a showing in the United States. 

My second terrier chum was Flora, who 
came directly from Aberdeen, Scotland. 
How well I remember her arrival! I had 
been looking forward for days to the time 
when she should come. Upon the arrival 
of her box, however, my feeling of joy 
was dimmed with sadness, for we found 
that through some error in nailing the 
box, one of the nails had been driven 
through Flora’s ear. Imagine the misery 
of an overnight journey in a small box 


52 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


with a nail through the ear! By good 
treatment the ear was soon cured, with the 
result that Flora was a happy and healthy 
pup. She remained in our home for a 
good many years. Many were the happy 
hours we spent together. 

When Flora was quite old, I received 
as a present a small rough-haired fox ter¬ 
rier which I named “ Towrow.” While he 
had a great deal of “ pep ” and en¬ 
thusiasm, which Flora could no longer 
show, he merely shared a placed with her 
in my affections. 

I must tell you of Towrow’s first in¬ 
troduction to a rat. Some neighbors who 
had trapped two rats alive wanted to get 
rid of them. We decided to let the dogs 
do the killing. At the end of the street 
on which we lived was what we called a 
wood-yard, but which was in reality an 
abandoned quarry. There we went with 
the dogs to stage our rat-killing expedi¬ 
tion. Upon arriving, we showed one of 



A Scottish Terrier 




MY ANIMAL FRIENDS 53 

the rats in the trap to the dogs, before 
my father opened the door, allowing the 
rat to escape. The rat did not have an 
opportunity to make much use of his 
new-found freedom, for Flora soon 
grabbed him in her teeth and Mister Rat 
was no more. During all this episode 
Towrow had stood by in an attitude of 
extreme amazement. Because he had 
never seen a rat before, he did not seem to 
realize what was going on. My father 
was somewhat disgusted that a terrier 
should have so gone back on his breeding. 

But Towrow speedily rose to the occa¬ 
sion. When the second trap was opened 
and the rat escaped, Flora had no oppor¬ 
tunity even to see it. Towrow had 
snatched up the rat in his teeth and killed 
it before Flora knew what was happen¬ 
ing. Towrow, the terrier, had proved true 
to all his terrier tradition. 

Apart from my various dogs, the pets 
which I prized the most were my doves. 


54 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


These birds, which I had for several years, 
were almost pure white. Their cage was 
fastened above the door on the inside of 
the house. At times, this afforded us a 
great deal of amusement. Whenever the 
door opened, the birds cooed. To those 
of us who were accustomed to it, this was 
nothing uncommon, but it caused merri¬ 
ment when visitors came. I can still re¬ 
member the startled callers, who, when 
the door was opened, heard that strange 
coo which they so little expected. 

One night after we had gone to bed, we 
were much startled to hear a shriek from 
the dovecote. Upon investigating, my 
father found that the female dove was 
dead. Suffice it to say that I did not sleep 
much more that night. In the morning, 
my father left for work, saying that he 
would bury the dove in the wood-yard 
when he returned in the evening. 

However, I had other plans. My dove 
was to have a funeral. Since I was de- 


MY ANIMAL FRIENDS 


55 


termined to bury my pet with all honors, 
I drafted my brother to assist, and deter¬ 
mined that my chums should act as paid 
mourners. From my mother I obtained 
a large match box, which was to be the 
coffin of my pet. This was placed on a 
small stretcher which I had made, and 
which was carried by my chums. I went 
ahead of the procession as chief mourner. 
Then came the bier, with its bearers. 
Behind the bier walked my brother as 
next of kin to the chief mourner, and be¬ 
hind him came another group of my 
chums, acting as the paid mourners. 
Here I should tell you something of paid 
mourners. 

The old English custom to have paid 
mourners at every funeral was still in 
vogue in my childhood. These men were 
hired to walk behind the hearse with their 
heads downcast, expressing the feeling of 
sorrow evident in the hearts of those close 
of kin to the departed. They were sup- 


56 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


posed to keep their eyes down during the 
whole procession to the cemetery, never 
lifting them on the pain of losing their 
pay. In some instances this occasioned 
queer mistakes. I know of one funeral 
where the hearse made a sudden turn in 
traffic, going in a new direction while the 
paid mourners continued straight on, fol¬ 
lowing a rough sand-wagon. 

But to return to the dove funeral. 
When we arrived at the wood-yard I had 
the body put in a grave already prepared 
by one of my playmates. When the grave 
had been filled, we placed above it a head¬ 
stone made of slate. On it we wrote with 
chalk as follows: 

Sacred to the Memory 
of 

Victoria 
a pet dove, 

Born—January 21, 1904. 

Died—June 16, 1906. 

May she truly rest in Peace 


MY ANIMAL FRIENDS 


57 


It may have been a rather strange 
funeral, but my pet was thus buried in 
all seriousness, for her loss meant much 
to me. My sorrow was not to end there, 
as Victor, the male dove, never showed 
signs of vigor after the death of his mate. 
His days were spent in sighing for the 
one departed. It was not many days 
until he, too, died and had to be buried 
in a grave beside his mate. 

Next among my pets were my guinea 
pigs that I greatly admired. These I had 
while we lived at Idle, a town a few miles 
from Shipley. We kept a pair of them 
in a kind of shed which was not far from 
the house. 

When we first owned them, my father 
had much fun at the expense of my cre¬ 
dulity. He told me that guinea pigs were 
very delicate animals and must be handled 
with care, for he said, “ If you pick up 
a guinea pig by its tail, its eyes will drop 
out.” Of course, I found that hard to 


58 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 

believe, but after a long time I finally 
came to the realization that, like the far- 
famed Manx cats, guinea pigs have no 
tails at all. 

There was a very good reason why I 
did not have the guinea pigs very long. 
If you have read Ellis Parker Butler’s 
amusing story, “ Pigs is Pigs,” you will 
understand without my telling you. We 
had a pair when we bought them, but be¬ 
fore very long we did not know how many 
pairs we had. The increase in guinea pigs 
was so rapid that I had to forego owner¬ 
ship. 

Other pets that I enjoyed were tiny 
fish which we caught in the river. I al¬ 
ways had a jar of fish when the oppor¬ 
tunity afforded. My brother, on the other 
hand, specialized in caterpillars and but¬ 
terflies, both of our hobbies adding much 
to the distress of our mother. So you see, 
“ Boys will be boys,” no matter under 
what flag they live. 


CHAPTER V 


OUR GAMES AND SPORTS 

England’s national game of cricket has 
the same appeal for British youth that 
baseball has for boys in America. 

The game, which is played by two 
teams of eleven men each, takes place on 
a level field. The bat used is flat in shape, 
is about four inches wide, and about as 
long as a baseball bat. The ball is about 
the size of a baseball, but is much harder. 
No gloves are worn by the players, with 
the exception of the wicket keepers. 

The main part of the playing is done on 
a crease between two wickets. This crease 
is twenty-two yards long and six feet, 
eight inches wide. The wicket consists of 
round sticks, three of which are set about 
four inches apart in a straight line, with 

59 


60 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


a bail across the top. There is a wicket 
located at each end of the crease. The 
men of the defending team are placed 
somewhat as shown in the following 
diagram. 

There is a bowler, or pitcher, as well as 
a batter, at each end. When one bowler 
is bowling, the other is inactive, just as 
when one batter is up, the other is inac¬ 
tive, except for being ready to run. The 
bowler bowls six balls, which is considered 
an over . After this, the other bowler 
bowls an over. The ball is thrown, not 
direct, as in baseball, but so as to strike 
the ground just ahead of the batsman. 
When a ball is hit to a safe distance, or 
when it is missed by the wicket keeper, or 
a fielder, the batters exchange places, 
passing one another on the crease. This 
constitutes a run. 

A batter may be put out in any of the 
following ways: (1) bail displaced by a 
fair ball, (2) bail displaced while batter 


OUR GAMES AND SPORTS 


61 



CRICKET FIELD AND ARRANGEMENT OF PLAYERS 

DOTTED LINES REPRESENT CREASE. WICKETS ARE AT EACH END 
WITH BAIL ON TOP. B-BAT5MEN; U-UMPIRES; 1-BOWLER; 2-WICK- 
ET KEEPER; 3-LONG STOP; 4-SHORT SUP; 5 - POINT; 6-LONG SLIP; 
7-LONG ON; 8-LONG OFF; 9-C0VERP0INT; 10-MID-W/CKET ON; 

11-LEG. 










62 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


is out of crease, that is, knocked off 
(stumped) by wicket keeper while run¬ 
ner is making for wicket, but just too 
late, (3) batsman guilty of placing leg 
before wicket to prevent bail being 
knocked off, (4) caught out, and (5) 
violating various other rules which need 
not be enumerated here. 

An inning consists of putting out ten 
men, the eleventh man being declared 
“ not out.” Great scores are run up, some 
scores being as high as one hundred runs 
for one player, in professional games. 

Another sport, participated in by 
grown-ups, in which they were imitated 
by the boys, was “ soccer.” In associa¬ 
tion soccer football, the game was played 
by eleven men, with a ball about the size 
of an American basket-ball. The uni¬ 
forms of the players consisted of jersey 
sweaters and short pants, very much like 
gym pants, but very different, in their 
lack of extensive padding, from those used 


OUR GAMES AND SPORTS 63 

by the players in the American form of 
Rugby. 

The main idea of the game was to drib¬ 
ble the ball up the field by the means of 
kicking it with the foot or bumping it 
with the head until within range of the 
goal post, where it would be possible to 
kick goal. The only one allowed to touch 
the ball with the hands was the goal 
keeper, or a player putting the ball into 
play after it had been outside. 

When we played the game as boys, we 
experienced some difficulty in getting a 
regulation ball. These were very expen¬ 
sive, and proud indeed was the group that 
could boast of ownership of one. In lieu 
of a ball, we used the inflated bladder of 
a pig. This was casually referred to as a 
“ blether.” Its original purpose was to 
hold lard as it was sold in the butcher 
shops. When used for this purpose, the 
bladder was thoroughly cleaned, and then 
lard was poured in while hot. Such a 


64 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


bladder, empty of lard, and inflated by 
husky lungs, made a fair substitute for a 
regulation ball. 

It is uncertain just when or where foot¬ 
ball originated, but legend has it that dur¬ 
ing the Danish invasion of England about 
982 a. D., the citizens of Chester captured 
a Dane, and, after beheading him, kicked 
his head about for sport. 

Whether this be true or not, the origin 
of Rugby, another of our games, is 
known. On the wall of the athletic field 
of Rugby School, a stone tablet preserves 
the name of the lad who originated that 
form of football. The inscription reads: 

“ This stone commemorates the exploit 
of William Webb Ellis, who, with a fine 
disregard for the rules of football as 
played in his time, first took the ball in 
his arms and ran with it, thus originating 
the distinctive feature of the Rugby 
game. a. d. 1823.” 

This will be interesting to all American 


OUR GAMES AND SPORTS 65 

boys, due to the fact that from it devel¬ 
oped the great American college game. 
We, as boys, played it with little realiza¬ 
tion of what it had meant to American 
college life. 

One of our Sunday sports was “ tramp¬ 
ing ” over the moors. This is the English 
equivalent of an American “ hike.” We 
did not have far to go to come to exten¬ 
sive moorland, as Yorkshire is famous for 
its moors, some of which were much in 
evidence in the vicinity of Shipley. One 
which I remember well was Baildon 
Moor. To reach the top of it was a stiff 
climb, and many times I had to gasp for 
breath a good deal before finally gaining 
the summit. 

On the way to Baildon Moor we passed 
Fiddler Green. This was a great open 
space, rich in green grass. It received its 
name from the fact that it had once been 
a dancing-green, on which young men 
and women dressed in the costumes of the 


66 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


Victorian era had disported themselves to 
the tune of the fiddle. 

What fun it was to tramp across the 
moors. In every direction one could see 
the blooming heather blowing in the wind, 
and suggesting the waves of a great and 
mysterious ocean. 

Some of our boyish games will seem 
queer to you; some of them will seem per¬ 
haps a trifle silly, but we enjoyed them 
very much, as they gave us many happy 
hours. For most of our games, we had 
to make the equipment. This, of course, 
added to our enjoyment. 

One such game was “ Piggy.” The 
piggy was made by cutting off a piece of 
broom-handle about six inches long. This 
was then whittled to a point at each end. 
The piggy was then placed on a line in 
the street, and after being struck on one 
end so as to lift it into the air, it was 
struck again so as to send it as far as the 
strength of the player could make it go. 


OUR GAMES AND SPORTS 


67 


The bat was then put down on the line 
and the opposing player allowed to throw 
the piggy from its resting-place in an at¬ 
tempt to hit the stick. If he was success¬ 
ful, it was then his turn to strike the 

piggy- 

If the thrower was unsuccessful, the 
piggy had to be batted again from where 
it landed the first time. This was kept up 
until the opposing player was able to hit 
the bat. Each time the length of the 
strike was measured by the use of the 
bat, “ so many strokes,” while each time 
the opposition failed, the number of 
strokes was allowed to count for his op¬ 
ponent. The player first receiving a to¬ 
tal of one thousand strokes was declared 
winner of the game. 

Certain of our games were played ac¬ 
cording to season. Just how the season 
was determined, not one of us could have 
told. At certain times we seemed simul¬ 
taneously to begin playing them. 


68 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 

One such game was “ taws,” or mar¬ 
bles. Our game was essentially the same 
as that played in America. However, 
marbles were very cheap. A halfpenny 
spent in marbles would purchase a capful. 

Another game was football cards. 
These were heart-shaped cards, about 
three inches across. On each one of them 
appeared the picture of a professional 
football player. A package of about a 
dozen could be purchased for a halfpenny. 
The youngster who at the end of the year 
had a complete set of cards showing the 
members of the winning team received a 
football jersey. The football card season 
began late in the football season, so that 
the cards of the various leading teams 
were of value. The game was played by 
a player putting down a card of a leading 
team. The player who from a distance 
of about ten feet could cover that card 
with a card which he threw became owner 
of the more valuable card. The other 


OUR GAMES AND SPORTS 69 

player, of course, added to his store of 
cards. At the end of the season, some 
players would have as many as two thou¬ 
sand cards. 

Buttons, as well as marbles, were of 
great value to us. They were gained and 
lost in a game called “ Buttony-Ball.” A 
circle about six inches in diameter was 
drawn with chalk near to a wall. In this 
each player placed six buttons. The idea 
of the game was to bounce the ball in the 
circle, up against the wall, and catch it 
on the bounce, having knocked as many 
buttons out of the circle as possible. As 
soon as a player missed the ball, he was 
out, but entitled to all the buttons which 
he had knocked out. The buttons of each 
player were again brought up to the re¬ 
quired number, and the game went on. 
Needless to say, this game was sometimes 
a help to our mothers and sometimes a 
hindrance, depending upon whether we 
were gaining or losing buttons. 


70 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


One piece of play equipment which 
every boy possessed was a “ bowl/’ or 
hoop. These were simply pieces of bar 
iron about three-eighths inches in diameter 
made into a circle by welding the ends to¬ 
gether. The “hook,” or driver,was an¬ 
other piece of the same iron, which was 
bent around the hoop so that it could not 
be removed. This was done so that the 
hoop could be stopped in case one came to 
a sudden obstruction. Once in a while 
the hoop broke at the weld and we were 
then instructed by some kind elder to 
“ Go to the blacksmith’s shop and have 
him put it on his ‘ stiddy ’ (anvil).” This 
done, our hoop was soon welded and as 
good as ever. 

Two very quiet diversions are worthy 
of mention: Stolwerk albums, and cork- 
wool. 

The Stolwerk Chocolate Company gave 
with each bar of chocolate the picture 
of an animal or bird. For fifty coupons, 


OUR GAMES AND SPORTS 71 

a large album, having place for about 
three hundred of these cards, could be 
obtained. Among the schoolboys it was a 
great delight to exchange duplicates of 
the cards to see who could first fill his 
album. It was a game both interesting 
and instructive, for many of us learned 
as much natural history before school as 
we did during the sessions. 

Corkwool would, I fear, appear sissified 
to American boys. Four nails were 
driven into the top of a spool. A piece 
of wool was put down through the hole 
in the spool and then wrapped once 
around each one of the nails. Upon 
wrapping it the second time, the under 
thread was looped over the upper one. 
This was continued progressively from 
nail to nail. The wool used was varicol¬ 
ored, so that the knitting came out in 
bright hues. When we had many yards 
of it, our mothers sewed it together to 
make pads on which to set the teapot or 


72 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


other hot dishes. Our reward came, I 
think, in being able to boast of “ the long¬ 
est string of corkwool in the neighbor¬ 
hood.” 

The desire for play is a characteristic 
common to all children. In both rich and 
poor, it seeks to find expression. The 
play of the English child is quite different 
from that of his American cousin, but 
though the games used are so different, the 
ends served are the same. 


CHAPTER VI 


BEGGARS, BALLAD SINGERS, AND BALLOONS 

Every English village or town seemed 
to be supplied with quaint characters, and 
the town where I spent my youth was no 
exception. There were three whom I re¬ 
member very distinctly. 

The first of these was Black Harry. 
He lived in a small shack on the bank of 
the Leeds and Liverpool canal. His 
ancestry no one knew. His entrance into 
the community had not been noted. 

He received his name from the fact that 
he was always black from coal dust. He 
made his living by gathering coal from 
the canal and selling it to the poorer peo¬ 
ple of the town who were unable to buy 
in large quantities. His source of supply 
was that which fell from the passing canal 

73 


74 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


boats. Black Harry kept a very vicious 
and noisy dog that people said helped him 
in his business. As the boats passed his 
hut, the dog barked at the members of the 
crew. They in turn threw lumps of coal 
to silence him, thus adding to his master’s 
store. 

Black Harry’s equipment for business 
consisted of a large box, fastened about 
six inches from the ground on four wheels. 
Early in the morning, he pushed his box- 
cart to the side of the canal, where he sat 
down in it. With the aid of a long iron 
rake he began to scrape the bottom of the 
canal for coal. Having entirely cleared 
one part of the canal of coal, he moved 
on to another, and so worked until he had 
filled his box. 

One day as he was intent upon his task, 
a group of street urchins slipped up be¬ 
hind him and pushed Harry, cart, rake, 
and all into the canal. The canal was not 
very deep and he soon scrambled out, but 


BEGGARS AND BALLAD SINGERS 75 

this ducking taught him to keep a wary 
eye upon the urchins who frequented the 
canal for their sport. 

Again, there was “ Old Star-Gazer.” 
He had once been a great Shakespearean 
scholar. For some reason or other, when 
under the influence of liquor he became a 
harmless yet hopeless individual, obsessed 
with the idea that the whole world was 
interested in his recitations of Shake¬ 
speare’s masterpieces. Often at night he 
frightened women and girls by dropping 
down in front of them and beginning to 
recite Macbeth, Hamlet, or King Lear. 
However, to us boys it was a great delight 
to come suddenly upon him as he was in 
the midst of one of his “ recitals.” We 
studied many of Shakespeare’s plays in 
school, yet they never had the same appeal 
as “ Old Star-Gazer’s ” recitations. 

Another quaint character was “ Tatter- 
pillar.” He was a lad of about nineteen 
or so whose mind had never fully devel- 


76 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


oped. His home was in one of the poorer 
parts of the town. He passed most of 
his time wandering around the village 
market-place. I never knew his real name, 
but in our family circle he was always re¬ 
ferred to as “ Tatterpillar.” Once when 
I was very young my brother had given 
some caterpillars from his collection to 
this lad, which had much pleased the poor 
fellow. From that time on, he always 
accosted my father with the same ques¬ 
tion, “ Ha yor Ewich (Eric) dot any 
tatterpillar? ” I suppose he made such 
an impression upon me because of his in¬ 
nate childlikeness which so contrasted 
with his manly body. 

Whenever it was “ tide,” or fair, time, 
there were always many tinkers and bal¬ 
lad singers to be seen. Gypsies were al¬ 
ways in abundance at tides, and since 
tinkers are generally part gypsy, they 
often traveled along. The real work of 
a tinker was to mend pots and pans, but 


BEGGARS AND BALLAD SINGERS 77 


many English tinkers also mended um¬ 
brellas or did other jobs to earn a living. 
Some who were musical turned their tal¬ 
ents to good account and became ballad 
singers, or musical beggars. 

There were many beside tinkers who 
took up ballad singing. Most of these 
people had very poor voices and were gen¬ 
erally rather obscure and worthless char¬ 
acters, although now and again an indi¬ 
vidual with a fine voice and an ear for 
music would be heard. As a general rule, 
the singers were interested only in obtain¬ 
ing a living by easy means, but now and 
again one of them would take up ballad 
singing for some other reason. 

My mother often told me of one famous 
ballad at one time used by the singers. 
Sir Roger Tichborne was an English no¬ 
bleman who supposedly had been lost at 
sea. He left a vast estate to which no 
direct heir could be found. Finally a man 
appeared who maintained that he was Sir 


78 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


Roger in person. However, the author¬ 
ities were not satisfied and awaited fur¬ 
ther evidence. To acquaint the public 
with this great news, the ballad singers 
sang a song throughout the length and 
breadth of the land. Here is the first 
verse: 

“ Sir Roger Tichborne is my name, 

And all the people say the same. 

Those who think I was lost at sea, 

Are much surprised to find it’s me.” 

The tinkers who were musical beggars 
used very unusual means of obtaining 
money. Their chief stock in trade was 
the production of music on queer instru¬ 
ments. Two of these I remember well. 
One man had made a flageolet, or fife, by 
hollowing out a walking-stick, while an¬ 
other used the spout of a watering-can for 
a similar purpose. 

The former is evidently an old trick 
with tinkers, for we read that the tinker, 


BEGGARS AND BALLAD SINGERS 79 


John Bunyan, writer of Pilgrim/s Prog¬ 
ress, had a similar instrument when in 
Bedford gaol. He made a fife out of one 
of the legs of his three-legged stool, and 
when he heard the gaoler coming he 
slipped it back in place. The gaoler, seek¬ 
ing the source of the disturbance, was 
much annoyed to find Bunyan sitting in¬ 
nocently on his three-legged stool, evi¬ 
dently in deep meditation. 

Of all the strange characters of my boy¬ 
hood, there was one who never lost his 
power to attract, amaze, amuse, and mys¬ 
tify. This was the individual who called 
himself “ The One-Man Band,” and 
whom we saw only about once a year. I 
have since learned that in certain parts of 
Italy there are many of his clan. The 
One-Man Band was a man of the tinker 
type who played six instruments at once. 
Undoubtedly the quality of music which 
he produced was very inferior, but to me 
as a boy it seemed very wonderful. 


80 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


His instrumentation was as follows. 
On his head he wore a kind of brass hel¬ 
met, from the center of which protruded 
a piece of brass about a foot long. At 
intervals, other pieces branched off very 
much like twigs on a tree branch. On the 
end of each of these twigs was a small 
bell. As the “ band ” played, he shook 
his head, causing all the bells to tinkle. 

Around his neck was a wire harness 
which held a mouth organ to his mouth. 
This harness was much needed, since the 
hands of the One-Man Band were busy 
elsewhere in many ways, as I will soon 
show. 

On his back he carried a medium-sized 
bass drum. On top of the drum was a 
cymbal, the upper part of which was fast¬ 
ened to a hinged lever. To this lever a 
chain was hooked, which went through the 
body of the drum and was fastened to his 
heel, so that the cymbal could be clanged 
whenever he pulled the chain with his foot. 


BEGGARS AND BALLAD SINGERS 81 


The drumsticks were fastened one to each 
of his elbows. 

With his hands he played a concertina. 
This is an instrument somewhat similar 
in mechanism to the accordion. It is 
different in shape, however, being much 
smaller, with the ends octagonal in shape 
rather than rectangular. 

With this instrumentation, the “ band ” 
played. As the concertina moved out, the 
drum received a resounding thump, the 
cymbals, motivated by the foot, crashed 
together, accompanied by the tinkling of 
the bells and the jolly screech of the 
mouth organ. After the concert, the 
One-Man Band sent his assistant around 
from door to door asking for contribu¬ 
tions. After we had followed the “ band ” 
for several streets to the limits prescribed 
by our parents, we sadly turned back 
knowing that we should not see that one 
of our Seven Wonders for another year. 

Once in a while in the midst of our 


82 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


play we heard a sound which temporarily 
put an end to our games. This was the 
stirring call of the Rag Man’s horn. 
What a great feature he was in our lives! 
What a thrill his coming brought! All 
the toys and good things which we re¬ 
ceived at Christmas could not compare 
with the simple things which he presented. 

As soon as his call was heard, we scat¬ 
tered to our homes and besought Mother 
to do her best in providing rags to ex¬ 
change for treasures. There were three 
types of reward. For a small number of 
rags, a flag made from a square of wall 
paper fastened upon a stick was the pay¬ 
ment; for a larger number, a toy balloon; 
and for a great many rags, a bar or so of 
candy. As it was before the day of pure- 
food laws and the inspection of food man¬ 
ufactories, the quality of the candy was 
much to be questioned, and so my mother 
always duly instructed me that a balloon 
was to be the limit of my indulgence. 


BEGGARS AND BALLAD SINGERS 83 


Although most times I received a bal¬ 
loon, I have vivid recollections of the re¬ 
ceipt of one paper flag. This time, since 
the man came when the bag of discarded 
clothing was somewhat low, I received a 
paper flag. To my mind, however, it was 
not a square of wall paper fastened to a 
piece of lath. It was a banner of won¬ 
drous beauty, to be carried in triumph. As 
I ran toward my home waving it before 
me, my little Scotch terrier, Flora, 
anxious to enter into the spirit of the 
game, jumped up, and, sinking her teeth 
into the paper, tore the flag in two. I 
came home a defeated warrior. However, 
due to my father’s ability with paper and 
glue, I was soon once more happily wav¬ 
ing it aloft. 

The toy balloons which we received 
were not of a very high-quality rubber; 
they had to be treated with a great deal 
of care if they were to survive. The ones 
I received generally lasted about half a 


84 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


day. In our home we had a sofa made 
with a horsehair cover from which points 
of hair protruded in places, since it was 
an heirloom. Here my balloons generally 
came to destruction, for no balloon could 
survive the penetrating qualities of horse¬ 
hair. After a tearful farewell, I was 
ready to resume play with my fellows, 
while impatiently awaiting the return of 
the gatherer of cast-off garments. 


CHAPTER VII 


GUY FAWKES DAY 

When I was a boy in England, we 
knew very little of the meaning of the 
Fourth of July, which in America is cele¬ 
brated as Independence Day. We did, 
however, have a great day of celebration 
for a somewhat similar purpose. Our 
“ firecracker day ” was the Fifth of No¬ 
vember, when we celebrated Guy Fawkes 
Day. But Guy Fawkes was not a hero, 
for he it was who in 1605 attempted to de¬ 
stroy the English Parliament by the use 
of many barrels of gunpowder. 

This is how it came about: In 1603, 
James VI, King of Scotland, fell heir to 
the throne of England. There were those 
in England who were very disappointed 
and angry because they did not obtain the 

85 


86 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


expected recognition from the new king. 
They plotted to kill the king and the chief 
men of the country by destroying Parlia¬ 
ment during session. 

As the cellars underneath the Houses 
of Parliament were rented to merchants 
for the storage of goods, it was quite easy 
for the plotters to rent one of them. This 
they did, and then placed thirty-six bar¬ 
rels of gunpowder there in storage. They 
also carried in a great deal of wood. This 
fuel used to hide the barrels was, no doubt, 
also intended to increase the blaze when 
the Houses of Parliament were set on 
fire. What was contained in the barrels, 
no one thought to ask; no one paid much 
attention to their storage. 

All members of the band of plotters 
were bound by an oath never to talk of it. 
This must have been quite a severe test of 
their patience, as the plot went on for al¬ 
most a year and a half, the plotters meet¬ 
ing secretly at night. 


GUY FAWKES DAY 


87 


When everything was in readiness, Guy 
Fawkes was chosen to perform the most 
dangerous and difficult part. It was his 
task to set fire to the barreled gunpowder. 
He hoped to escape when he had accom¬ 
plished his task, but should he be caught, 
he was willing to die for the cause. The 
Fifth of November was chosen for the 
completion of the plans, as Parliament 
would then be opened by the King in the 
presence of all the members. 

Like many other well-laid plans, how¬ 
ever, failure came when success seemed 
most certain. Francis Tresham, a gentle¬ 
man who had joined the plotters, had a 
friend in Parliament who was not in sym¬ 
pathy with the king. In an attempt to 
save his friend’s life, Tresham sent a let¬ 
ter in a disguised hand warning him not 
to go to Parliament. Tresham’s friend 
was so distressed by the letter that he took 
it to Lord Salisbury, who in turn took it 
to the King. 


88 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


About midnight, on the fourth of No¬ 
vember, the day before Parliament’s 
meeting, the cellars under the Houses 
were searched by officers of the King. 
With hushed voices, and drawn swords, 
they searched the cellars by the aid of dim 
lanterns. All seemed well for a time, un¬ 
til in a far corner a dim light was seen, 
and near it they discovered the dark fig¬ 
ure and pale face of Guy Fawkes. 

Fawkes at first tried to escape, and la¬ 
ter, to defend himself, but he was soon 
overpowered by the King’s men, who took 
him prisoner. In his pockets were the 
materials for firing the barrels of gun¬ 
powder. He could not deny his guilt; he 
realized that he would have to die. 

He was taken to the Tower of London, 
where he was cruelly tortured in an at¬ 
tempt to make him tell the names of the 
other plotters. This he refused to do, 
and shortly afterwards, with another chief 
conspirator, he was put to death. 


GUY FAWKES DAY 


89 


The common people of England were 
overjoyed at the discovery of the plot. 
Eells rang, bonfires blazed, songs were 
sung, and the day was declared a national 
holiday. 

I have told you this story so that you 
can understand why the day meant so 
much to us as boys. In our public schools 
the afternoon before the great event was 
always given over to a repetition of the 
story of Guy Fawkes and the Gunpowder 
Plot which so nearly succeeded. 

However, with us boys, preparations 
for the celebration of the great holiday 
began many months before the Fifth of 
November. Every street must have its 
“ Plot Fire ” on Guy Fawkes Day. To 
do this, all the boys of the street gathered 
together to go “ pegging/’ Where the 
term originated, I do not know, but it 
means the gathering of wood for plot bon¬ 
fires. 

The scarcity of wood in England made 


90 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


it necessary for us to begin early. Most 
of the wooded land near the city was 
owned by rich men who used it for fox 
hunting, or to lease out to tenant farmers. 
A great deal of this property was pro¬ 
tected from our invasion by “No Admit¬ 
tance,or “ No Trespassing ” signs. Oc¬ 
casionally we came upon a caretaker who 
would let us gather firewood while he kept 
a watchful eye for the approach of the 
owner. 

How diligently we worked, and how 
little wood we got, as I see it now. When 
I first came to America and saw great 
waste-lands full of rotting tree trunks, or 
again in the cities when I saw huge 
wooden boxes burned as rubbish, I sighed 
as I thought of the amount of “ prog- 
ging ” labor that would have been saved 
us had we lived in a land where wood 
was so plentiful. 

Sometimes after weeks and weeks of 
diligent labor, tragedy befell us. One 


GUY FAWKES DAY 


91 


time the boys in our street had piled all 
the “ progging ” in the leader’s coal cellar. 
Since we had been especially fortunate 
that year, we gloatingly looked forward 
to one of the best fires in town. When 
the day arrived, however, our joy was 
turned to sorrow, for we found that the 
leader’s mother, during a temporary short¬ 
age of coal, had used our “ progging ” 
for the family fire. 

The energy which we expended in the 
hoarding of wood had its counterpart in 
our diligent saving of money for fire¬ 
crackers, or “ fireworks,” as we called 
them. No one had at that time legislated 
a “ safe and sane Fifth of November.” 
We gloried in our fireworks. 

At last Guy Fawkes Day arrived. 
School was forgotten, and because of our 
great anticipation of bonfires at night, 
“ time passed by on leaden feet.” Imme¬ 
diately after supper, our group gathered 
together to complete preparations for our 


92 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


bonfire. If possible, we procured an old 
clothes-basket, and mounting it upon one 
of our homemade two-wheel carts we 
began the round of the houses in our 
street, asking for kindling, or “ chips.” 
Arriving at a house we rang the bell, and 
when some one answered the door we made 
known our request in chorus, as follows: 

“ Please to remember the Fifth of November, 
The terrible treason and plot. 

I see no reason why gunpowder treason 
Should ever be forgot. 

Gunpowder treason should never be forgot, 

As long as old England stands on the spot! ” 

It was seldom that the door was closed 
without our request being granted. We 
generally received a generous contribu¬ 
tion of chips. Once in a rare while we 
were given some coal, and then, indeed, 
we “ went on our way rejoicing.” 

Another type of contribution which we 
hailed with great delight was often forth¬ 
coming. This was a gift of “ Plot Tof- 


GUY FAWKES DAY 


93 


fee.” Do not confuse this with American 
taffy. Toffee is a sticky candy, made 
principally of sugar and “ treacle,” a kind 
of molasses very similar to American sor¬ 
ghum. I still enjoy toffee as my father 
makes it to-day, but it never has the same 
ambrosial sweetness which Plot Toffee 
had to my youthful appetite. 

After we had made our rounds and 
gathered what chips and coal were to be 
had, we carried our spoils to the site of 
our bonfire in the middle of the street. 
We then added to it the branches and tiny 
twigs that were the result of many after¬ 
school “ progging ” expeditions. By this 
time it was dark. The fire was quickly 
laid, and soon we had a roaring blaze to 
celebrate the capture of Guy Fawkes and 
the saving of England’s Parliament. 
Thus we spent the evening around the fire, 
lighting our precious fireworks from the 
flames, and right well celebrating Guy 
Fawkes Day. 


94 WHEN l WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


The crowning event of the night’s fes¬ 
tivities was the burning of Guy Fawkes 
in effigy. I am sure that if the dapper 
seventeenth-century Guy Fawkes could 
have seen some of the representations of 
himself, he would have died of mortifica¬ 
tion. Old clothes were stuffed with straw, 
a hat was placed on top, and fireworks 
were thrust into all the pockets. The fire¬ 
works were then lighted and the effigy 
was put on the bright red embers of the 
bonfire. Amidst the banging of fireworks, 
the flames set in blaze the tinder-like 
straw, and Guy Fawkes once again suf¬ 
fered death at the hands of descendants of 
loyal subjects of King James the Sixth of 
Scotland and the First of England. 

After the destruction of Fawkes, the 
boys joined hands and, marching round 
the dying embers of the plot fire, sang 
patriotic songs of Great Britain. Thus 
another Guy Fawkes Day passed into 
history. 


CHAPTER VIII 


AN ENGLISH CHRISTMAS 

The Britisher’s love for Christmas has 
been recorded in song and story. It is 
the holiday of holidays, a time of great 
rejoicing, and a time of thanksgiving for 
the good things which have been received. 
To English schoolboys, it means among 
other things a week’s vacation from 
school, and to the millworker, release from 
tasks for an almost equal length of time. 
The week from Christmas to New Year’s 
Day is given over to joviality and genuine 
fun. 

In my boyhood, preparations really be¬ 
gan about six weeks before Christmas 
with the selection of the materials for the 
Christmas cakes, puddings, and pies. The 
choosing of a family Christmas card was 

95 


96 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 



also an important event. Tradesmen 
placed signs in their shops, indicative of 
the coming season. I remember that in 
the barber shops for several weeks before 
Christmas signs could be seen reading as 
follows: 

“ Christmas comes but once a year, 

And when it comes it brings good cheer. 
And when your heart is filled with joy, 
Please, don’t forget the barber’s boy.” 

The barber’s boy was the barber’s ap¬ 
prentice, whose duty it was to lather the 
customer preparatory to his being shaved 
by the barber. 

With the arrival of Christmas Eve the 
celebration began in earnest. Jolly old 
Saint Nicholas, the “ Kris Kringle ” of 
German children, and the “ Santa Claus ” 
of Americans, comes to their English 
cousins in the form of Father Christmas. 
The same requirements for his favor are 
laid down as in America: good behavior 


AN ENGLISH CHRISTMAS 


97 


at home, good grades at school, and a 
general spirit of helpfulness. 

English homes seldom had Christmas 
trees. The greater part of our Christmas 
celebration centered in the chapel, where 
a large Christmas tree was provided by 
the Sunday School. At home, stockings 
were hung. This also was a great event. 
We always had several open fireplaces, 
providing a splendid place for the en¬ 
trance of Father Christmas. Upon going 
to bed, we hung our stockings, or rather 
Mother’s, so as to receive as many goodies 
as possible. 

For the older members of the family, 
Christmas Eve meant carol singing. The 
various church choirs gathered together 
for that purpose. Led by a man with a 
lantern, they fared forth to sing at the 
homes of various members of the congre¬ 
gation, especially homes where there were 
sick people, or shut-ins. They began their 
rounds about midnight, and generally 


98 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


completed them just as dawn came. 
When they sang before a home where the 
people were waiting up for them, the 
members of the choir were usually invited 
in to partake of Christmas cake and 
cheese, as they warmed themselves before 
the open lire. As the pride of every 
homemaker’s heart was her Christmas 
cake, she was bent upon having every one 
taste it. Sometimes, the choir singers had 
more than their fill of “ spice cake and 
cheese ” long before dawn arrived. 

Traveling in the dark as they did, some 
amusing and semi-tragic incidents occa¬ 
sionally took place. There was one such 
misfortune which was often related. A 
certain choir was making its rounds on 
Christmas Eve. They were particularly 
fortunate in having some musicians with 
them. One was playing the violin, an¬ 
other, the bass viol, and the third one, the 
clarinet. On their rounds they halted be¬ 
fore a certain house to sing a number of 


AN ENGLISH CHRISTMAS 


99 


carols. When they had finished, they were 
invited in by the people of the house. In 
the darkness, the owner of the viol had 
placed its peg in a hole in the pavement. 
Not realizing this, he lifted it a little dis¬ 
tance and began to move toward the door. 
The grip of the peg in the pavement was 
just sufficient to trip him. He fell against 
the viol, which fell to earth with its owner 
crashing down upon it. Suffice it to say, 
the choir had to do the rest of their sing¬ 
ing without the services of the viol. 

For us children, the coming of dawn 
meant the investigation of Christmas 
stockings. We always found our stock¬ 
ings well filled, with many other gifts 
piled before the open fireplace. If there 
was an orange in the toe of the stocking, 
it was a sign that Father Christmas had 
been especially well pleased. When the 
stocking contained a lemon, it was evi¬ 
dence that there was room for improve¬ 
ment in the owner’s behavior. 


> 

* > » 
i > 

) 9 > 


100 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


Early on Christmas morning the street 
urchins had their opportunity. In groups, 
or singly, they went from door to door, 
and, having flung the door wide open, re¬ 
peated the following verse: 

“We wish you a Merry Christmas, 

And a Happy New Year. 

A pocket full of money, 

And a cellar full of beer. 

A big fat pig that will last you all year. 
(Please, will you give us a Christmas box?)” 

That the rhyme is very old can be seen by 
the line about the pig, which harks back 
to the time when people slaughtered their 
own animals. A “ Christmas box ” was 
originally a box of goodies, but it now 
refers to a gift of money, fruit, or cake. 
Some people turned a deaf ear to the 
appeal of the urchins, but most people 
contributed generously from their stores 
of good things. 

Church services were always held on 
Christmas morning. Very early in the 


AN ENGLISH CHRISTMAS 101 


morning the bells of the churches rang a 
welcome to the glad day. Many sets of 
chimes could be heard playing, “ Hark, 
the Herald Angels Sing,” “ Christians 
Awake,” and other appropriate tunes. At 
the services, the religious aspects of the 
day were emphasized, and Christianity 
stressed as the way of life. 

Early in the afternoon came Christmas 
dinner, the meal much looked forward to 
by the younger members of the family. 
What goodies were in store! What sur¬ 
prises it held! 

For the first course there was goose. 
What a picture that goose made as he 
was carried in on the platter, with his legs 
sticking in the air! Every one wanted a 
leg! The delicious dressing, or “ stuffing,” 
which came from the depths of his cav¬ 
ernous body was of itself something long 
to be remembered. Add to that potatoes, 
peas, sauce, and rich gravy, and you have 
a meal fit for a king. 


102 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


Another dish not to be forgotten was 
roast beef. Roast beef is heralded as the 
Englishman’s favorite meat. Some saw 
in the decline of the use of roast beef the 
downfall of England. A song expressing 
this was “ The Roast Beef of Old Eng¬ 
land.” 

“ When mighty roast beef was an English¬ 
man’s food, 

It ennobled our hearts, and enriched our 
blood, 

Our soldiers were brave, and our courtiers 
were good, 

Oh! the Roast Beef of Old England, and 

Oh! for Old England’s Roast Beef. 

“ When good Queen Elizabeth sat on the 
Throne 

Such slip-slops as coffee and tea were not 
known, 

The world was in terror ere she should 
frown, 

Oh! the Roast Beef of Old England, and 

Oh! for Old England’s Roast Beef.” 

To every English mother, the success 


AN ENGLISH CHRISTMAS 103 


of her Christmas dinner was measured by 
the pudding. If the pudding broke, or 
was not of highest quality, Christmas din¬ 
ner was for her a failure. Just how that 
delightful piece of culinary art was made 
would be impossible for me to describe. 
However, when completed, it came to the 
Christmas dinner table as a large brown 
ball, about the size of a man’s head, dotted 
here and there with currants and raisins, 
and surmounted with a sprig of holly. 
In some homes, the pudding was set in a 
dish of brandy, which, being highly vola¬ 
tile, was lighted as the pudding was 
brought in, thus surrounding it with a 
flame of fire. 

For a dressing, or sauce, a sweet mix¬ 
ture of flour, milk, and water was used. 
It looked very much like the paste used 
to put advertisements on billboards. For 
this reason, in my boyhood, it was always 
facetiously referred to as a “ dash of Shel¬ 
don’s,” Sheldon’s being a famous outdoor 


104 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


advertising concern. The final course was 
delicious mince pie with “ spice cake and 
cheese.” It would seem that such a meal 
as this would have filled the most capa¬ 
cious youngsters. Nevertheless, we man¬ 
aged to save room for candy, fruit, and 
chestnuts. The chestnuts we roasted in 
the open fireplace. 

On Christmas night we all journeyed to 
the chapel, where an entertainment for 
the whole family was provided in the Sun¬ 
day-School rooms. For the grown-ups, 
there was a minstrel show or some like 
amusement provided by the young men 
and women of the chapel. For the chil¬ 
dren, there was the sand-pile. Here each 
youngster was provided with a small 
shovel and allowed to dig in the sand 
(powdered cork) until he found a prize 
package, which was then his very own. 

The highly decorated Sunday-School 
rooms were dominated by a great Christ¬ 
mas tree which stood in the center of the 


AN ENGLISH CHRISTMAS 105 


room, its branches seeming ready to break 
from the load of presents they held. Be¬ 
fore going home, each child in the room 
was provided with another present from 
the tree. 

Thus we celebrated Christmas much in 
the fashion that it had been celebrated for 
many centuries before the coming of the 
Machine Age. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE PEACE EGG PLAYERS 

New Year’s Eve marked the arrival of 
the Peace Egg Players. Where they re¬ 
ceived their name, I do not know. They 
were a group of masqueraders who went 
throughout the town giving a kind of play 
to “ sweep out the old and sweep in the 
New Year.” They had wooden swords, 
old kitchen pans for helmets, and old cos¬ 
tumes which they had gathered together. 

The play was generally given in the 
home of some one well acquainted with 
the players. Neighbors and friends were 
invited in to see it. Sometimes there were 
so many spectators that the actors were 
somewhat crowded, especially in the duel 
scene. I know that you would be inter- 

106 


THE PEACE EGG PLAYERS 107 

ested in witnessing such a playlet as this, 
so I will try to reproduce it as nearly as 
possible. 

The first lines were spoken by the 
Reader of the Prologue. He was gen¬ 
erally dressed as a jester of medieval 
times. On his head was a cap with bells, 
and in his hand was a mock scepter. He 
spoke as follows: 

“ This is Christmas, the time of good cheer, 

We have come to act a little of our Merry 
Christmas here. 

We are the merry actors that travel the 
street; 

We are the merry actors that fight for our 
meat; 

We are the merry actors that show pleasant 

play; 

Enter, Saint George, thou champion, and 
clear the way.” 

Here Saint George entered. He was 
dressed to represent the noble soldier who, 
according to English history, destroyed a 
dragon. In his hand he carried a sword, 


108 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


ever ready to meet his enemies. His lines 
upon entering were: 

“ I am Saint George, who from old England 
sprung, 

My famous name throughout the world has 
rung. 

Many bloody deeds and winders have I made 
known, 

And brought many false tyrants down from 
their throne. 

“ I followed a fair lady to a Giant’s gate, 

Confined in a dungeon to meet her fate, 

When, lo, a Giant almost struck me dead, 

But by my valor I struck off his head. 

I’ve searched the w r orld all round and round, 

But a man to equal me, I’ve never found.” 

At this juncture Slasher entered to ac¬ 
cept the challenge thrown down by Saint 
George. Slasher, who was dressed in 
much the same costume as Saint George, 
carried a wooden sword in his hand and 
wore a mock helmet on his head. He 
answered Saint George’s challenge thus: 


THE PEACE EGG PLAYERS 109 


u I am a valiant soldier, and Slasher is my 
name; 

Now with my trusty sword, I hope to win 
more fame; 

And for to fight with me, I see thou art not 
able, 

For with my trusty broadsword, I soon will 
thee disable.” 

To this the valiant Saint George made 
haughty answer: 

“ Disable? Disable? It lies not in thy power, 

And with my sturdy sword, I soon will thee 
devour. 

So stand back, Slasher, and let no more be 
said, 

For if I raise my sword, I’m sure to break 
thy head.” 

But Slasher was not to be so easily 
cowed, and he replied, saying: 

“ How canst thou break my head ? 

My head is made of iron, 

My body made of steel. 

My hands and feet of knuckle-bone, 

I’ll challenge thee to feel.” 


110 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


Then, with a great clashing of swords, 
with the muttering of threats, and amid 
the cheers of the spectators, the challenger 
and the challenged fought a “ duel unto 
death.” Finally, after a fatal thrust by 
Saint George, his opponent, Slasher, fell 
supposedly mortally wounded. As he lay 
thus in pain, he cried: 

“ A doctor, a doctor, ten pounds for a doctor! 

A doctor, a doctor, ten pounds for a doctor! ” 

In response to his repeated cries, the 
doctor finally appeared. He was a queer 
old man, with a white beard. He was 
very short in stature, and his shoulders 
were much stooped from age. In his 
hand he carried a large satchel, which 
when opened revealed an array of potions 
and pills. As he entered he said: 

“ Did I not hear the cries of one in great dis¬ 
tress, 

Quickly have I come, and my pills assure 
success.” 


THE PEACE EGG PLAYERS 111 


To this Slasher replied: 

“ Canst thou cure me of this great blight? 

What hast thou in thy case to set my frame 
aright? ” 

To his plaintive questioning the doctor 
replied: 

“ I have glasses for blind bumblebees, 
Crutches for lame ducks, 

Plasters for broken-backed mice. 

I cured Sir Henry of a hangnail, 

Almost five yards long, 

Sure enough I can cure this poor man. 

Take a little out of my bottle, 

Let it run down thy throttle, 

If thou art not quite slain, 

Rise, Jack, and fight again.” 

From his capacious bag, the doctor 
brought forth a glass into which he poured 
several powders, and a mysterious red 
liquid. This he carefully administered to 
the seemingly dying Slasher. As soon as 
Slasher had drunk the liquid, his face 
lighted up; his manner altered. But 


112 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


alas, there was soon a sudden change. 
For once the magic potion failed, and in 
a moment Slasher breathed his last. 
Here the play ended, with the triumphant 
Saint George receiving the plaudits of the 
crowd. 

Although this was the end of the play 
proper, there always followed another 
very important part, that is, very im¬ 
portant at least to the players. This was 
the entrance of Little Devil Doubt. This 
person was generally a boy about twelve 
years old made up to look like a demon, 
or a small edition of Satan. He wore a 
red-devil costume, with long horns on his 
forehead and a long pointed tail hanging 
at the back of his body. In his hands he 
generally carried a pair of coal tongs. 
(Because of this usage, coal tongs were 
always laughingly referred to as “ Little 
Devil Doubts.”) He also carried a small 
broom. As this character entered, he 
spoke as follows: 


THE PEACE EGG PLAYERS 113 


“ Here comes I, Little Devil Doubt, 

If you don’t give me money, 

I’ll sweep you all out. 

Money I want, and money I crave, 

If you don’t give me money, 

I’ll sweep you all to the grave.” 

After repeating this speech several 
times, Little Devil Doubt put down his 
tongs and broom. Taking off his hat he 
passed it around in the crowd for con¬ 
tributions. This money was later divided 
among the players, to be used for their 
enjoyment. 

After completing the play, and then 
partaking of some refreshments, the Peace 
Egg Players departed. Their acting had 
been mainly mimicry, the meter of the 
lines had been far from perfect, but a New 
Year had been born in the midst of pleas¬ 
antry and good-natured hilarity. To us 
as boys, no better way of ushering in the 
New Year could have been devised. 


CHAPTER X 


TRIPS TO THE FAIR AND GLEN 

The great summer event of my child¬ 
hood was Shipley Tide, or Fair. This was 
generally held the last week in July, when 
school was out and vacation time was at 
hand. Every town had its tide at a dif¬ 
ferent time, so that the people who had 
the various shows and booths traveled 
from place to place. 

A great many of the people who had 
attractions were of the Romany, or gypsy 
type. The caravans in which these peo¬ 
ple traveled always held a great fascina¬ 
tion for me. What fun it was to peek into 
caravans, and see how the gypsies lived! 
Nevertheless, I always was very cautious 
to keep a firm grip on my father’s hand, 

114 


TRIPS TO THE FAIR AND GLEN 115 



PLAN OF THE: INTERIOR OF A GYPSY 

VAN 

A-DOOR; B-A DOUBLE BED, WITH A VACANT 
SPACE UNDERNEATH FOR STORAGE,C-AGRATE 
COOKING STOVE, D-ATABLE WHICH HANGS 
ON HINGES FROM THE WALL, &-A CHEST OF 
DRAWERS; F- CHAIRS- 




















116 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


for although fascinated by the gypsies I 
also greatly feared them. 

Since you are no doubt interested in the 
interior of a gypsy van, I have drawn a 
sketch to show you what it was like. (See 
the plan.) All of you under similar cir¬ 
cumstances would no doubt have agreed 
with the sentiment expressed on a post¬ 
card I received as a child. This card had 
a picture of a little gypsy girl sitting on 
the steps of a caravan, feeding a donkey. 
Underneath the picture were these words: 

“ I wish I were a gypsy and lived in a van, 

And had a nice donkey, like peddler Nan.” 

Three standard attractions carried by 
the gypsy showmen were merry-go- 
rounds, cocoanut stalls, and shooting gal¬ 
leries. The merry-go-round was highly 
advertised as “ The Sensation of the 
Age.” It had a giant organ in connection 
with it and was propelled by steam. As 
the Sensation speeded along, the organ 


TRIPS TO THE FAIR AND GLEN 117 


roared out its notes as rapidly as a run¬ 
away musical locomotive, while the steam 
engine puffed in time, until a high-pres¬ 
sure scream told that the penn’orth of fun 
was up. How I hated to have that merry- 
go-round stop! To me, it was indeed the 
Sensation of the Age. 

No tide was complete without a cocoa- 
nut stall and a shooting gallery. The 
stall had cocoanuts placed on top of 
pedestals. The thrower was provided 
with a heavy stick with which to dislodge 
them. Sufficient is it to say that gypsy 
wariness had provided that the cocoanut 
be as heavy as possible, so that many 
pennies were spent and few cocoanuts 
knocked off. 

One type of gypsy shooting gallery 
consisted of a set of round disks about five 
feet from the shooter. To the person 
knocking down a disk, the prize attached 
was given. The shooting was done with 
a gun containing a dart. Again gypsy 


118 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


cunning provided, unbeknown to the 
shooter, a slightly crooked barrel for the 
gun. You can believe that few disks were 
knocked down. Many times soldiers, who 
were in abundance, tried their luck, but 
to no avail. One soldier, with a marks¬ 
man’s medal, after many unsuccessful at¬ 
tempts challenged the gypsy maid in 
charge of the booth to hit one of the disks. 
This she did easily enough, taking care, 
however, to use her own gun, one with a 
straight barrel. 

Another source of fascination was the 
side shows. Like all side shows, some 
seemed genuine, while others were not so. 
Two I will record, to give a sample of 
each kind. 

The first of these was described by the 
barker, or announcer of the show, as con¬ 
taining the only mermaid in captivity, 
captured at great hazard both to life and 
limb, and brought to England at great ex¬ 
pense from the shores of Trinidad. When 


TRIPS TO THE FAIR AND GLEN 119 


the mermaid was seen, she proved to be a 
hoax and a great disappointment. The 
“ beautiful ” mermaid was nothing other 
than a dead monkey stuffed into the tail 
of a fish. 

Another barker expounded upon the 
wonders of a girl born with an elephantine 
trunk in the place of an arm. This 
proved to be seemingly genuine, although 
it may have been a fraud. Her one arm 
had all the appearance of an elephant’s 
trunk, as the girl used it with no visible 
distress to pick up even such small objects 
as pins and needles. Whether a fraud or 
not, it was an interesting tide exhibit. 

Among Shipley’s places of interest was 
the Glen. This was a great natural rock 
formation, very much on the order of 
Watkins Glen in New York State. The 
approach to this park was by means of a 
long road through the woods. In order to 
facilitate entrance during special days, a 
sort of tramway had been erected to carry 


120 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


passengers. This consisted of two cars 
traveling on an endless belt. As the one 
car went down, the other proceeded up. 
It was one of the joys of my boyhood to 
ride on the Glen Tramway. 

Since the Glen was in reality an amuse¬ 
ment park, it had many things of interest. 
There was one of the many amusements 
which was especially interesting. This 
was a giant wheel. Inside of it was a seat 
hung from the axle in the center. When 
a person sat on this seat, he seemed to be 
in a circular room with pictures on the 
wall before him. Soon when the wheel 
began to turn, the pictures moved on 
while others rapidly took their places. As 
the wheel gained momentum, the wall 
moved faster and faster, so that it was not 
long before the poor victim was in the 
throes of something similar to seasickness. 
When the wheel stopped, the victim stag¬ 
gered forth to be admonished by the op¬ 
erator to tell his friends what fun he had 



An Old Stile, Shipley Glen 









TRIPS TO THE FAIR AND GLEN 121 


had. True to human nature, each victim 
tried to secure another victim, and so the 
merry round of the wheel went on. 

One day a number of victims, banded 
together, determined to give the owner of 
the wheel some of his own medicine. They 
put him on the seat, binding him so that 
he could not get away. They then took 
charge of the wheel and spun it vigorously 
for several minutes. When they opened 
the door they expected to discover a badly 
nauseated and helpless victim. Imagine 
their surprise when he was found to be 
as happy and as spry as ever. They never 
could understand it. However, he later 
confided his secret to one of his friends. 
“ When the wheel began to turn, I merely 
shut my eyes,” he blandly explained. 

To me, the Glen’s most interesting 
feature was the Punch and Judy show. 
You have no doubt seen these puppets in 
their antics, but I wonder how many of 
you fully realize their antiquity. Orig- 


122 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


inally, when they came into being in the 
Middle Ages during the days of the old 
Morality plays, they represented “ Pilate 
and Christ.” After the players were 
driven from the church and compelled to 
accept the hospitality of the inn yard, the 
names and characters slowly changed 
until they became Punch and Judy, who 
seem to be immortal. 

Of all their antics, there was one scene 
which amused me more than anything 
else. Judy had died and poor Punch was 
determined that she should be buried. He 
obtained a coffin, but bought a small one 
in order to save money. He placed Judy 
in it, but it was so small that she was com¬ 
pelled to sit upright. He, therefore, bent 
her forward, placed the lid on top of her 
and started for the cemeterv. When he 
arrived there, he tossed her in the grave, 
keeping the coffin, which he placed on his 
shoulder as he started back home. 

Very early in my youth I learned 


TRIPS TO THE FAIR AND GLEN 123 

Whittier’s poem entitled, 44 The Barefoot 
Boy ” : 

“ Blessings on thee, little man, 

Barefoot boy, with cheeks of tan.” 

It was at the Glen that I first saw a 
barefoot boy. He was the son of a very 
wealthy man, and was passing through 
the Glen with his father, toward their 
estate. How I envied him as he walked 
along! How I wondered what it would 
be like to be free from the tyranny of 
shoes, and to be able to feel the cool of 
the lichen-covered rocks! It was not until 
I came to America that I had an oppor¬ 
tunity to experiment. To me, that oppor¬ 
tunity was worth the whole trip over. 


CHAPTER XI 


HAPPY HOLIDAYS 

When I was a boy, my summer vaca¬ 
tions were spent either in the country or 
at one of the seaside resorts. To me, there 
was a much greater appeal in the farm 
than any resort could afford. 

The farm at which we generally so¬ 
journed was located at Timble, about 
fourteen miles from Shipley. To arrive 
at the farm, we went to Otley by train. 
We could then continue by wagon to the 
farm, or walk across the moors to it. 
Although the way across the moor was 
rather long, I always enjoyed it, because 
of the fun of striding through the heather, 
chasing butterflies, and catching cater¬ 
pillars. 

The farmhouse, like most English 

124 



The Stream, Shipley Glen 






































































































































































HAPPY HOLIDAYS 


125 


buildings, was built of stone. Not only 
the walls, but the floors of the downstairs 
rooms were of stone. The rooms were 
large and airy, although they must have 
been somewhat cold in winter. 

I was much more interested in things 
outside the house than in its architecture, 
but there were several pieces of furniture 
which made a great appeal to me. One 
was the old four-poster bed in which I 
slept. This was a real heirloom, as it had 
been in the family for generations. There 
were great curtains all around the bed, 
strung by rings on wire from one post to 
the other. When one slept in the bed, 
every movement of the body caused the 
rings to rattle. What sport it was, when 
lying in that bed, suddenly to turn over 
and hear the rattle of the curtain rings! 
I sometimes almost forgot to go to sleep. 

Another attractive piece of furniture 
was the grandfather’s clock. This great 
clock stood at the head of the stairs and 


126 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


was about eight feet high. Its scarred old 
face had looked down upon several gen¬ 
erations. Could it have spoken, it would 
have had a wonderful story to tell. You 
may remember how the poet has put its 
story into words: 

“ Grandfather’s clock was too large for the 
shelf, 

So it stood ninety years on the floor. 

It was taller by half than the old man himself, 

But it weighed not a pennyweight more. 

It was bought on the morn of the day he was 
born, 

And was always his treasure and pride. 

But it stopped—short—never to go again, 

When the old man died.” 

The old clock at the farm was a master¬ 
piece of the clockmaker’s art. Not only 
did it record the time of day, hut it also 
told the day of the month. How fas¬ 
cinating it was to watch as it slowly “ tick- 
tocked ” the passage of time! 

Almost as enticing to me was the cuckoo 
clock. Every half-hour, when a little door 



HAPPY HOLIDAYS 


127 


opened, a small bird came forth crying, 
“ Cuckoo.” I asked my mother to call 
me from my play when the clock was near 
the hour, in order that I might hear the 
bird. It was a long time before I realized 
that the cuckoo was not alive. 

The owner of the farm was an old man 
who had lived on the farm all his life. 
Being unmarried, he lived with his sister 
and her husband. I do not suppose that 
he had ever been more than twenty miles 
away from the farm in his life. Nat¬ 
urally, his outlook on life was very nar¬ 
row, and his knowledge of current events 
was very limited. 

One time during the Boer War he had 
driven into the town of Otley for some 
supplies for the farm. Among his pur¬ 
chases he bought some candles, as they 
were the main means of lighting at the 
farm. After making his purchase and 
asking the price, he was surprised to find 
that they were a great deal more costly 


128 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


than usual. A conversation somewhat as 
follows took place. 

“ Why,” said the farmer, “ are candles 
so much dearer (more costly) than they 
used to be? ” 

“ Well, you see,” said the storekeeper, 
“ it’s on account of the war.” 

“ Imagine! ” said the farmer in amaze¬ 
ment. “ I had no idea that they were 
fighting bjr candlelight.” 

The Boer War thus made a great im¬ 
pression upon him. I can remember that 
several years after the war had closed, he 
would query of my father: 

“ And are they still fighting that war 
with 4 swerds and begonits ’ (swords and 
bayonets) ? ” 

But the most delightful fact to me 
about this rustic was his use of tobacco. 
Since tobacco in England was very costly, 
it was generally bought in half-ounce 
packages. The farmer had to conserve 
his tobacco, not only because it was costly, 


HAPPY HOLIDAYS 


129 


but also because in his isolated residence 
it was hard to procure. This was his 
method of conservation, as he told me one 
day when talking to the “ lile lad ” (little 
boy), as he called me. 

“ You see, lad,” he said, “ I have to be 
careful of me bit of ’baccy. I chew it 
first, and then dry it. When it’s well 
dried, I smoke it. And then I use the 
ashes for snuff.” 

At the farm, my brother had a splendid 
opportunity to indulge in his hobby of col¬ 
lecting caterpillars and butterflies. I well 
remember the result of one summer’s col¬ 
lecting. The season had been especially 
good. He had placed his large tin box of 
caterpillars on an old table in the farm 
kitchen preparatory to taking them with 
him the next day. Some one unknow¬ 
ingly bumped the box from the table, 
knocking off the lid. A while later, when 
the mistress of the farm came into the 
kitchen, it was literally alive with creep- 


130 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


ing caterpillars. An immediate search 
was started, but I am afraid it was not 
very successful, as we were still finding 
crawling caterpillars in unexpected places 
during the next day. Each new discovery 
of this kind increased the embarrassment 
of the young naturalist. 

Not far down the road from the farm 
was the little town of Fewston. It was 
always enjoyable to walk to this pic¬ 
turesque village to see its church and 
churchyard. The most engaging sight to 
me was the massive church key. This 
key, which was about eighteen inches long, 
seemed almost too much of a load for the 
little vicar who carried it, but he seemed 
to use it without difficulty. 

Fewston churchyard, or cemetery, was 
famous for the many queer epitaphs which 
appear on the gravestones. There was 
one very strange one, which is, perhaps, 
the queerest inscription to be seen any¬ 
where in the world. It reads as follows: 



Fewston Church 



























HAPPY HOLIDAYS 


131 


To the memory of 
Joseph Ridsdale of Bluherhouse 
Who died Fehuary 29, 1823, 
aged 79 years. 

Also Elizabeth his wife, March 18, 1813, 

aged 59 years 
And William their son, 

Died Febuary the 30th 1802 
Aged 23 years . 

It will be seen that the letter “ r ” is 
omitted from February in each case, that 
it is impossible to have February 29 , 1823 , 
or February 30 , 1802 , as the former is not 
a leap year and the latter is quite out of 
the question; and that the order of the 
dates when the death occurred is re¬ 
versed. 

Although the country had much greater 
appeal for me than the seashore, I shall 
say something of the latter. 

It is said that the people who live in 
the county of Lancashire in England save 
all the year so that they can spend as 


132 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


much as possible during a vacation at 
Blackpool, a famous seaside resort. This 
was not true of the people who lived in 
Yorkshire, yet every Yorkshireman liked 
to be able to go now and again to More- 
cambe, the most famous resort of York¬ 
shire. 

At the seaside, the beach ponies and 
bathing pleased me the most. For the 
sum of a few pence it was possible to hire 
a little pony and cart to go driving along 
the sands of the beach. What sport my 
brother and I used to have as we drove 
along behind one of the little beach ponies! 
Ben-Hur, to our way of thinking, never 
went any faster, nor had any better steeds. 

The appeal of bathing at Morecambe 
came through having a private bathhouse. 
On an American beach the bather must 
go to the water on foot, but on an Eng¬ 
lish beach, he rides to it. All the bath¬ 
houses were on wheels. We used to step 
into them directly from the dry sand of 


HAPPY HOLIDAYS 


133 


the shore. While we were dressing, a pair 
of horses were fastened on, and the 
dressing-room was moved out into the 
sea. Thus, when we came forth in our 
bathing suits, we had only to walk down 
the steps into the water. Upon the com¬ 
pletion of our bathing, the process was 
reversed, and when dressed we again 
stepped on to the beach dry-shod. 


CHAPTER XII 


A TRIP TO LAKELAND 

In the northeastern corner of Eng¬ 
land, there is one of the most enchanting 
bits of scenery to be found anywhere. 
This is the English Lake District, famous 
as being the dwelling-place of a great 
many of England’s poets and literary 
men. The leaders of this school were 
Wordsworth, Southey, and Coleridge. 
Within a radius of fifty miles are to be 
found sixteen of the most beautiful lakes 
in the world. Only the Scottish lochs and 
the Killarney group of lakes in Ireland 
can compare with them. 

It was quite often my privilege to visit 
the English Lake District. My father 
was a member of a choir which each year 
made a trip up into that region. I shall 

134 



English Countryside near Timble 









A TRIP TO LAKELAND 


135 


tell of only four of the most famous of 
the sixteen lakes: Windermere, Derwent 
Water, Ullswater, and Patterdale. 

The journey from Shipley to the lower 
end of Lake Windermere was made by 
train. Since an English railroad is so dif¬ 
ferent from an American, I am sure that 
you would like to hear about it. 

When the English railroads first came 
into use, they supplanted the coach lines. 
Consequently, the influence of the coach 
could still be seen. When I was a boy, 
the parlor car, such as is used on Ameri¬ 
can railroads, was practically unknown. 
The railway carriage for passengers was 
not much different from the stage coach 
which it replaced. Unlike the American 
cars, it was entered at the side rather than 
at the end. In some few cases, one could 
enter at the end, but had to go along the 
side of the car to pass into compartments 
on the other side. 

Tickets were bought at the “ Booking 


136 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


Office ” rather than the Ticket Window. 
In the days of the stage coach, it had been 
customary to record, or “ book ” the name 
of the passenger in the register kept at 
the stage office. The term was retained, 
although people bought tickets, instead of 
being registered. English trains did not 
have conductors. The man who collected 
tickets was known as the “ guard.” This, 
no doubt, went back to the fact that each 
stage coach had to have a guard, a man 
who rode on top with a blunderbuss in his 
hands to guard it from attack by robbers. 

Every English railroad carried three 
classes of passengers: first, second, and 
third. Just how this distinction arose is 
not known. An old story explains it as 
follows. In the old days of the stage 
coach, first, second, and third class tickets 
were sold according to the accommoda¬ 
tions, or lack of them. One time a coach 
traveling along a muddy road had to stop 
because the horses could not proceed. 


A TRIP TO LAKELAND 


137 


The guard came to the door of the coach 
and made the following announcement: 
“ We cannot proceed through the mud, 
because of the load. All first-class pas¬ 
sengers stay in the coach. All second- 
class passengers will get out and walk. 
All third-class passengers must get out 
and push.” 

I recall that in the trains the first-class 
compartments were upholstered in plush 
and were very roomy, seating six pas¬ 
sengers, three on each side. The second- 
class compartments were upholstered in 
leather, and held eight passengers. The 
third-class carriages were not upholstered, 
and held ten passengers. In addition to 
these three classes, some workmen’s trains 
were run, the fare of which was only two 
cents a mile. They were called “ parlia¬ 
mentary,” because they had been estab¬ 
lished by an Act of Parliament. 

The railway carriages had much lower 
roofs than those in America, due to the 


138 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


lowness of the British bridges, which had 
been built so solidly of stone in an earlier 
day that they could not easily be changed. 

The other things which would appear 
queer to an American boy were the little 
locomotives, and tracks without any level 
crossings. Every English railroad was 
enclosed so that the track did not cross 
public roads, all crossings being above or 
below the track. No walking on the track 
was allowed. At the stations, or depots, 
the platforms were several feet above the 
track, so that passengers entered the 
trains without going up any steps. 

Since there were no level crossings, and 
no one was allowed to walk on the tracks, 
the engines were without bells, and with¬ 
out cowcatchers. The English locomo¬ 
tives were all painted some brilliant color, 
depending upon the company to which 
they belonged, each line having its own 
color. The trains made much greater 
speed than those in America; some trains 


A TRIP TO LAKELAND 


139 


like the famous “ Flying Scotsman,” go¬ 
ing from London to Edinburgh, made an 
average speed of as much as fifty miles an 
hour, including stops. 

I have described for you the trains as 
they were twenty-five years ago. In most 
respects, the English trains of to-day are 
very similar to those on which I rode. 

Traveling along on a British train, we 
soon arrived at Windermere, where the 
joy really began for me in the form of 
travel in a char-a-banc. This carriage, 
which had rather high wheels, was drawn 
by two horses. There were generally five 
seats, on top, all facing toward the horses. 
The entire char-a-banc held about twenty 
passengers. Biding on the seat beside the 
driver was a kind of footman whose duty 
it was to blow the tally-ho horn. This 
was a horn about five feet long, having a 
mouthpiece like a bugle. What fun it 
was to ride along behind spirited horses, 
with the wind blowing in your face, and 


140 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


the gay call of the tally-ho sounding from 
time to time. 

Lake Windermere, or “ winding lake,” 
is almost eleven miles long, and is in no 
place more than a mile wide. Compared 
with Lake Michigan or Lake Superior, it 
is very, very small, but what it lacks in 
size is recompensed for in beauty. It 
nestles among green hills of moderate 
height, which are thickly covered with 
forest. 

On the shores of Lake Windermere is 
the little town of Hawkshead, famous as 
the site of the Free Grammar School 
which Wordsworth attended from his 
eighth to his seventeenth year. The town 
of Hawkshead is a delightful example of 
a border town. The houses were built 
here so as to enable the men easily to repel 
Scottish invaders. 

Long ago Hawkshead had a great 
“ hiring fair,” and was once the center of 
the woolen industry of the Lake District. 


A TRIP TO LAKELAND 


141 


At one time, each separate cottage, farm, 
and house in the district had a spinning- 
wheel which was kept going, spinning 
wool from the sheep raised on the farms. 
The people of the district made clothes 
from their own cloth. This is reflected 
in one of Wordsworth’s poems, telling of 
a time before the invention of power looms 
and the establishment of Saltaire Woolen 
Mills. 

“ Amid the mountains did I feel 
The joy of my desire; 

And she I cherished turned her wheel 
Beside an English fire.” 

The school where Wordsworth studied 
is a very old building now, and was old 
when Wordsworth attended school there 
more than a hundred years ago. The 
desk where he sat is always pointed out to 
visitors. The poet was evidently just a 
normal boy, for he cut his name in the 
desk. This signature has now become 
famous. 


142 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


Above the school is a library in which 
there are many documents about the 
school and a copy of the charter showing 
that it was chartered by Queen Elizabeth, 
and had been founded by Edwyne Sandys, 
Archbishop of York, in 1585. There is 
also the archbishop’s Bible, in which is 
the family register and the rules pre¬ 
scribed for the school at the time it was 
founded. 

A little distance north of Hawkshead is 
to be found the Wythburn church, famous 
for the fact that it is the smallest church 
in England. In it is to be seen a poem 
which Wordsworth wrote about it. 

Still farther north is Grasmere, where 
Wordsworth lived for so long and where 
the Wordsworth family graves are lo¬ 
cated. Here one sees the famous Dove 
Cottage where he did most of his writing. 
It was called the Dove Cottage because 
it had one time been used as an inn, called 
“ The Dove and Olive Bough.” 


A TRIP TO LAKELAND 


143 


The house has been made into a mu¬ 
seum devoted to Wordsworth, and a trip 
through its eight rooms gives one an 
impression of the presence of the owner. 
It seems as though he had left his desk, 
his manuscripts, and the things which he 
loved, only for a moment, and might at 
any time return to take up his work. In 
the rear of the house is a very lovely 
garden where he wrote. 

Most of you are no doubt familiar with 
the lines of the poet, Southey, 44 How 
Does the Water Come Down on Lodore.” 
I had one of the keen disappointments of 
my young life when I first saw the falls. 
Instead of the torrent which Southey pic ¬ 
tured as: 

“ Rushing and flushing and brushing and gush- 
ing, 

And flapping and rapping and clapping and 
slapping, 

And curling and whirling and purling and 
twirling, 


144 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


And thumping and plumping and bumping 
and jumping, 

And dashing and flashing and splashing and 
clashing; 

And so never ending, but always descending, 

Sounds and motion for ever and ever blend¬ 
ing, 

All at once and all o’er with a mighty up¬ 
roar,” 

I saw about as much water as would 
make a good shower bath dropping over 
a cliff about one hundred feet high. 

But no story of the English Lake Dis¬ 
trict would be complete without making 
some mention of Patterdale and Ulls- 
water. These lakes are in the section 
made famous by the Kings of Patterdale, 
of whom you have probably never read in 
your English histories. 

This district had alwavs been disturbed 
by the Scottish invaders from the North. 
On one such occasion, the shepherds of 
T T llswater were gathered together by a 
man named Mounsey, under whose leader- 


A TRIP TO LAKELAND 


145 


ship they succeeded in defeating the 
Scots. Evidently this had seldom been 
done before, for the people decided to 
make him king of the district. It became 
a hereditary office, and his family held 
the title for many generations and were 
the acknowledged leaders of the district. 
Finally, the duties became so onerous that 
one of the successors asked permission to 
abdicate, and the Kingdom of Patterdale 
went back to the British crown. 

Ullswater is a long winding lake, much 
like Windermere, being nine miles in 
length. A great many places of interest 
are to be found along its shores. As one 
travels along the shores of these beautiful 
lakes, he can easily understand why the 
Lake School of poets produced such won¬ 
derful nature poetry. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE OLDEST TOWN IN ENGLAND 

There was an English town very fa¬ 
miliar to me in my childhood, which it 
seems to me would have fascinated any 
normal boy. This was the town of 
Shrewsbury, “ the Oldest Town in Eng¬ 
land.” 

Shrewsbury, or “ Shrouwsbury,” as it 
is pronounced by the natives, is in the 
southeastern part of England, near the 
border of Wales. It is really situated on 
a peninsula, fully three sides of the town 
being surrounded by the river Severn. 

Since my mother’s parents had been 
Welsh, and a good many of her relatives 
had settled in Shrewsbury, we often went 
to this old city for week-end visits. 

In a country as old as England, it is 

146 


4 



A Half-Timbered House near Shrewsbury 
















THE OLDEST TOWN IN ENGLAND 147 

quite a distinction for a town to be able 
to designate itself as “ the Oldest Town 
in England.” No wonder the inhabitants 
are proud of this distinction. Some years 
ago they were given an opportunity to 
incorporate as a city, but they refused. 

As soon as one sets foot in Shrewsbury, 
he realizes that he is in a town with a his¬ 
tory. The town is situated on a hill, 
almost completely surrounded by the 
winding Severn, and the streets wander 
in and out in charming irregularity. It 
was Nathaniel Hawthorne who described 
them by saying: 

“ The streets ascend and curve about 
and intersect each other with the cus¬ 
tomary irregularity of these old English 
towns, so that it is quite impossible to go 
directly to any given point, or for a 
stranger to find his way to any place 
which he wishes to reach, though, by what 
seems singular good fortune, the sought- 
for place is always offering itself when 
least expected. On this account, I never 


148 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


knew such pleasant walking as in old 
streets like those of this very old town of 
Shrewsbury.” 

The building of commanding interest 
in the town is the castle. Shrewsbury 
Castle, built of a deep red stone, with 
square keep and corner turrets, is impos¬ 
ing when seen from a distance. The tur¬ 
ret in the garden below the castle was 
built by the famous engineer, Tedford. 
From the castle walls, one can get an ex¬ 
cellent view of the Welsh range of moun¬ 
tains, and the Shropshire hills. 

The castle was originally built about 
1200 a. d., by Roger de Belesme, or 
Montgomery, Earl of Shrewsbury. As 
the castle has been somewhat modernized, 
it is still very livable. This tendency of 
making way for modern life finds reflec¬ 
tion in the fact that although Shrewsbury 
was once a walled city, the walls have 
been so thoroughly demolished that few 
traces of them can now be seen. 


THE OLDEST TOWN IN ENGLAND 149 


However, much of old Shrewsbury is 
still standing. No other town in Eng¬ 
land can boast of such wonderful old 
houses. Most of them are very beauti¬ 
ful, being timbered or half-timbered, hav¬ 
ing massive oak frames and projecting 
upper stories. To some of the present- 
day inhabitants, their beauty does not 
repay their lack of conveniences. In some 
of them the facilities for cooking are so 
limited that the inhabitants have to send 
their Sunday roast to the community 
kitchen to have it cooked. 

The fact that the town is so near to 
Wales has had an effect upon the street 
names. One instance of this is a street 
which is now called Dog-pole, which at 
one time was Duck-Pool. Another in¬ 
teresting name is Wyle Cop, as is also 
Shop-latch. 

An interesting sight of Shrewsbury is 
St. Mary’s church, the windows of the 
church having stained glass in them which 


150 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


came from Flanders and Cologne. The 
most outstanding thing to me, however, 
was a memorial in the tower which, even 
though unintentionally so, is nevertheless 
amusing. This tablet is to the memory 
of a youth who in 1759 attempted to fly 
across the river. The tragedy of this 
youthful inventor is told as follows: 

“ Who by an attempt to fly from this high spire 
Across the Sabrine stream he did acquire 
His fatal end. ’Twas not for want of skill 
Or courage to perform the task he fell. 

No, no, a faulty cord being drawn too tight 
Hurried his soul on high to take her flight.” 

In Shrewsbury, the birthplace of 
Charles Darwin, there is a statue erected 
to his memory. I remember most the 
great bronze shoes in which the laces 
could be seen as clearly as in real shoes. 

Darwin was a graduate of the Shrews¬ 
bury Grammar School, which was founded 
in 1551 by Edward VI. One w r riter in 
the seventeenth century described it as “ a 


THE OLDEST TOWN IN ENGLAND 151 

fair and free school, of which there are 
four masters and sometimes six hundred 
scholars.” This seems to be a somewhat 
disproportionate number, and the situa¬ 
tion is quite different now. The school is 
across the river from the Quarry garden, 
and in order to go to it we had to cross 
the river on the ferry. This was a great 
delight to me. Two famous men who 
graduated from this school should be 
known to every schoolboy, Sir Philip 
Sidney, and Sir William Jenner, the dis¬ 
coverer of the process of vaccination, so 
helpful in the fighting of smallpox epi¬ 
demics. 

A visit to Shrewsbury provides one 
with the opportunity to see Welsh peas¬ 
ants. The women all wear “ Mother 
Shipton ” hats. These hats have a large 
stiff brim, and the crown is made in the 
shape of a truncated cone. They received 
their name from Mother Shipton, famous 
for her prophecy: 


152 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


“ Carriages without horses shall go, 

And accident fill the world with woe; 
Around the world thoughts shall fly 
In the twinkling of an eye. 

Waters shall yet more wonders do, 

Now stranger, yet shall be true; 

The world upside down shall be 
And gold be found at root of tree. 
Through hills man shall ride 
And no horse nor ass be at his side; 

Under water man shall walk, 

Shall ride, shall sleep, shall talk. 

In the air men shall be seen 
In white, in black, in green; 

Iron in the water shall float 
As easily as a wooden boat. 

Gold shall be found mid stone 
In a land that’s now unknown; 

Fire and water shall wonders do, 

England shall at last admit a Jew. 

And the -world to an end shall come 
In eighteen hundred and eighty-one.” 

Mother Shipton’s Cave is in Knares- 
borough in England, where she is said to 
have lived. That she wore such a hat as 
described is much to be doubted. Al- 


THE OLDEST TOWN IN ENGLAND 153 


though all her prophecies, except the one 
made in the last two lines, have come true, 
many people doubt that such a person 
ever lived. 

As a child, I was always fascinated to 
hear the Welsh peasant women speak. 
The Welsh language may rightly be 
called unique. No use is made of the 
letters j, k , q, oc, and z. Each letter 
is pronounced separately. There are no 
diphthongs, and no silent letters. It is in 
this respect that Welsh much resembles 
the Russian. 

At one time I learned a Welsh rhyme 
which pleased me greatly. Although I 
still remember it, it would be difficult ac¬ 
curately to represent the sound in print. 
It went something like this: 

“ Uppa derry dan doin, 

Tenna genna et toin. 

Sham bouin, tedda thouin, 

Shenna, benna, wheata, 

Sham, bach, bouin.” 


154 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


And, as the Scriptures say, “This be¬ 
ing interpreted ” means: 

“ Ring around the rosies, 

Pocket full of posies. 

Hatchem! Snatchem! 

All fall down.” 

Although this may not be a literal 
translation, the doggerel carried some¬ 
what this meaning. As a boy, it was one 
of my proudest accomplishments that I 
was able to “ speak ” Welsh. 

On one of our trips to Shrewsbury, we 
arrived just in time for the Annual 
Flower Show. It was held in a large park 
called The Quarry, and was in reality a 
great fair made up of exhibits of flowers 
and fruits. All kinds of races, sports, and 
shows were carried on. The part of 
greatest thrill to me was the Steeple 
Chase. In this event, horses, ridden by 
jockeys, ran over a long course contain¬ 
ing such hazards as a high wall, a high 



Fountains Abbey, Ripon, Yorkshire 


















THE OLDEST TOWN IN ENGLAND 155 


hedge, a high gate, and a large body of 
water. How exciting that was to a 
youngster unused to such things! 

All these sights of Shrewsbury made an 
impression upon me at various times dur¬ 
ing our visits, but boylike, I remembered 
one thing against Shrewsbury which I 
found it hard to condone. My brother 
and I purchased some cocoanut cakes 
there once which appealed to my boyish 
mind as a travesty on the name. They 
were about two inches square and about 
three inches long. The sad part was that 
the cocoanut was shredded upon them so 
finely as to be almost invisible. I can 
never forgive Shrewsbury for those cakes. 


CHAPTER XIV 


WE EMBARK FOR AMERICA 

One of the greatest surprises of my 
life came when my father one day an¬ 
nounced that he was going to leave Eng¬ 
land for America, and that my mother, 
my brother, and I were to follow in about 
six months. I had known for some time 
that he had had an offer to engage in the 
rubber industry in one of America’s great 
rubber concerns, but I did not realize that 
this could ever draw him away from the 
land of his birth. 

Early in January my father left for 
America, and from that time on my con¬ 
versation with my chums was constantly 
sprinkled with the phrases “ America,” 
“ the United States,” “ the Stars and 
Stripes.” I had a number of relatives in 

156 


WE EMBARK FOR AMERICA 157 


America, and began to look forward with 
interest to their letters, literally devour¬ 
ing every line that had anything to do 
with life in America. 

Most of the time between the departure 
of my father and our sailing date was 
spent in selling the furniture of our home 
and packing great boxes, preparatory to 
coming to America. How well I remem¬ 
ber bequeathing various of my choice 
playthings to my chums! 

Finally the day of departure came. 
On the tenth day of June we took the 
train from Shipley to Liverpool, and there 
boarded the Cunard Liner Ivernia. This 
same Ivernia was many years later, dur¬ 
ing the World War, to sink, the victim of 
German submarine warfare. 

I need not tarry to tell of the journey 
over here. Suffice it to say that if there 
was one part of the vessel which I did not 
explore, it was because I inadvertently 
missed it. I investigated everything, and 


158 WHEN I WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


missed going up the rigging to the crow’s 
nest only because I was prevented by a 
stern maternal hand. 

About a week after leaving England, 
our vessel docked at Boston. After pass¬ 
ing through the customs, we boarded a 
train for Cleveland, Ohio, where most of 
our relatives lived, and where we planned 
to stay for a few days. 

Early in July we were established in 
our new home in Akron, Ohio. We lived 
in that city until I started for college, 
when my parents moved into one of the 
suburbs. 

Of course, life in America was new, 
strange, and yet fascinating. What a pic¬ 
ture my brother and I made as we went to 
school the first term after our arrival! 
Our heavy boots and Eton collars con¬ 
trasted strangely with the trim garments 
of our fellows. Many times during that 
first semester we heard the kindly, yet 
humorous greeting, “ Hello, English.” 


WE EMBARK FOR AMERICA 159 

Many of the things connected with 
American history were rather strange to 
me, and many times I made mistakes 
which were very laughable to my com¬ 
panions. One, especially, I remember. 
Each day in school we were asked to re¬ 
peat the Pledge to the Flag: 

“ I pledge allegiance to my Flag, and 
to the republic for which it stands. One 
nation, indivisible, with liberty and jus¬ 
tice for all.” 

Not long after I had entered the class 
the teacher asked me to rise and repeat 
the pledge. I repeated the first phrase 
as follows, much to the amusement of my 
fellows: 

“ I pledge allegiance to my Flag, for 
there Sir Richard stands.” 

Who Sir Richard was, of course I did 
not know, but their repetition of the 
pledge had always sounded so, and to my 


160 WHEN 1 WAS A BOY IN ENGLAND 


foreign mind Sir Richard might have 
been an American patriot. 

When I graduated from grade school 
and high school, I attended, and grad¬ 
uated from one of Ohio’s smaller colleges, 
after which I spent four years in two of 
America’s great universities. Thus into 
the mind of one who was “ a Boy in Eng¬ 
land ” were poured the ideals of this 
great land of liberty and freedom. The 
heritage of the old found full expression 
in the challenge presented by the new. 


THE END 









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